Heresy

by Melissa Lenhardt

  THE WESTERN UNION TELEGRAPH COMPANY

  21,000 OFFICES IN AMERICA

  CABLE SERVICE TO ALL THE WORLD

  TO: ALLAN PINKERTON, PINKERTON NATIONAL DETECTIVE AGENCY, CHICAGO, IL

  DATE: MONDAY, JUNE 25, 1877

  CONTACT MADE WITH GANG. PLANNING BIG JOB BEFORE END OF YEAR. COVER INTACT. LETTER TO FOLLOW.

  12

  Margaret Parker’s Journal

  Saturday, August 4, 1877

  Denver, Colorado

  The plan Hattie and I had put together was to rob the Bank of the Rockies, the same bank I robbed with Jehu in ’73. Come full circle and take something from the Connolly family one last time. Grace had a surprising suggestion: use a suffrage march scheduled for the day before the vote as our escape cover. We would be in Denver for a couple of months, establish ourselves as part of the suffrage movement (but strangers to each other, of course), and reconnoiter the bank for a few weeks. Joan and Stella would join us in mid-September so we could finalize everything.

  When I told Grace I intended to pay Callum Connolly back the money I stole from his father, the colonel, in ’73, with interest, she stared at me in shocked silence for quite some time.

  —You can’t do that. It’s much too dangerous, Grace said.

  —At least you didn’t call me a prideful, pompous son of a bitch like Hattie did when I told her.

  —Why didn’t you talk her out of it?

  —I tried. But she makes a compelling case, Hattie said.

  I explained the reasoning: If Callum Connolly suspected Margaret Parker was the leader of the gang that had been terrorizing his company—and there was no evidence that he did—my arrival on his doorstep with repayment plus interest must surely prove my innocence. After all, what kind of outlaw would put herself at that kind of risk?

  The boldest outlaw in the West.

  I thought Grace would argue with me some more, but she didn’t. She shook her head and said it was a needless risk.

  —But it’s going to make a great story, I said.

  —Margaret Parker: Prideful, Pompous Son of a Bitch. There’s your title, Grace, Hattie said.

  —I won’t write it if you do this.

  —Do you know something, Grace? Some reason I shouldn’t?

  —No, of course not. The last thing I want is for you to put yourself in unnecessary danger all for a good story. Hell, Margaret, I can make that part up.

  —She has a point, Hattie said.

  —No. This is the plan. Hattie and I have planned out what to do if they arrest me. That might even be the better outcome. But it won’t happen.

  —How do you know? Grace said.

  —I don’t, and that’s the thrill of it.

  Monday, August 6, 1877

  While I dropped Newt off in Cheyenne, Hattie made it to Denver in time to follow Grace when she got off the train, to confirm or dismiss her suspicion that Grace was a Pinkerton. The first person Grace went to see was Dorcas Connolly. To Hattie it was a done deal; Grace had to die. I asked her to give me the opportunity to show Grace’s loyalty. If Grace failed the test, Hattie could kill her. If not, the plan would go on. Hattie thought it was a needless risk, but went along with it.

  When I stood in front of the Connolly Building, looking up at its solid brick exterior and down at the blue-and-white CONNOLLY INC. EST 1867 mosaic I stood on, I wondered if I was going to have the wherewithal to go through with the plan. Anger at the colonel’s theft of my ranch simmered deep within me still. I felt the dull ache of my tumor and thought of what Hattie said when I told her this plan back at the Heresy Ranch, that this tumor of mine was the physical manifestation of the anger and rage I’d tried to keep tamped down for the last five years. She thinks this last job will heal me, extinguish the fire that’s been in my belly, that’s fed my sickness. It’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard, but I hope she’s right.

  The Connolly offices were on the top floor. A Negro stood next to a steel cage by the stairs and asked me if I would like to ride the first elevator in Denver, Colorado. I agreed, and after clanging the metal door shut, the operator set us slowly on our way. I grasped the rail as the elevator rose, and the operator smiled and asked me if it was my first time. When I said it was, he told me I had nothing to worry about. It was safe as houses. I wasn’t sure about that as I felt the gears grind and lift us to the fourth floor.

  I stepped out into a long hallway that stretched out on either side of me. I headed toward the double doors to the left, which had CONNOLLY INCORPORATED stenciled on the frosted glass.

  I took a few deep breaths as I stood outside the door, and thought of what I might find on the other side. Whom I might find. What kind of man Callum Connolly might be. How I might best insinuate myself into his life. His business. I also thought of the prospect of the sheriff coming to arrest me, being thrown into jail, the lawyer I would call, the trial that might follow. Hattie and I had talked it through so many times I was prepared for any situation that might arise. When I opened the door and wasn’t met with men with guns, I knew Grace was with us. When Dorcas didn’t recognize me immediately, I suspected our plan would go off without a hitch.

  Dorcas Connolly wore the same high-necked dress and cameo brooch she wore the last time I saw her, standing on my front porch next to her cheating brother. Today she smiled and asked if she could help me in a friendly yet professional manner.

  —Dorcas, I said.

  She recognized me soon enough.

  —Margaret?

  —It’s been a long time.

  —Five years.

  —You’re looking well.

  —As are you.

  I’d taken great care with my appearance, needing to show I wasn’t destitute, but not to be so flashy as to imply too much wealth. Everything about me was demure, sliding back into the woman I’d been when Thomas and I married all those years ago. I felt constrained, like a completely different person. Which I needed to be to succeed.

  —I heard about the colonel’s death. My condolences.

  —You don’t have to pretend to mourn him for me.

  —Oh, I didn’t mourn him, but I’m sure you did.

  —What can I do for you, Margaret?

  —I’ve come to see your nephew. To pay back the loan I took from the colonel’s bank back in ’73.

  —Loan? After a long moment of confusion, Dorcas Connolly’s face turned thunderous.

  —I should send for the sheriff.

  —You could. But then I would tear up the check I brought to pay what I borrowed, with interest.

  —Borrowed? You robbed our bank.

  —Our?

  I knew it would rankle Dorcas, and it did. When I knew her, she had lived on the charity of the colonel. Being near neighbors, she and I had had a cordial relationship for years until Thomas died and Colonel Connolly decided he wanted not only my ranch but me as his wife. Friendship had turned to animosity, at first because I might supplant her, and then because I’d rejected her brother’s business offer, as well as his personal one. Turned out familial pride and the success of Connolly Enterprises were as important to her as they were to the colonel, despite the fact that she had no ownership in the company, and it would be left to his son in its entirety upon the colonel’s death.

  Dorcas pressed her lips into a line.

  —Come now, Dorcas. You understand what your brother did to me. He left me destitute, with few options. I needed a loan to get back on my feet, to feed my family.

  —Your family?

  —Family is thicker than blood.

  I suggested to her it would be more efficient if I told the story to both her and her nephew. She studied me for a long moment, and the door behind her desk opened. For a terrifying moment, I thought Benjamin Adamson was exiting, but no. It was another of the hundreds of hirsute businessmen “building the West.” Jehu had told me that Adamson had died in Montrose a few days after they arrived, of an apparent heart attack. In an opium den.

 
; I forgot all about Adamson when I laid eyes on Callum Connolly for the first time. Callum is a little taller than I, with golden hair oiled back and away from his face and a thick but smartly trimmed beard. He wore gray riding breeches and black boots with soles rimmed in mud. He was coatless and wore a white shirt and a plain black waistcoat spanned by a silver watch chain. But I didn’t notice any of that until later; what struck me most was the metal mask that covered the lower half of the right side of his face. Though I’d been expecting it, the sight still stunned me, and I had to click my teeth together to close my gaping mouth. Opal was right, Callum Connolly was handsome.

  Callum bid the businessman goodbye with a firm handshake, but didn’t take his eyes from me. Gauging my response to his deformity, no doubt.

  Dorcas introduced me as the woman who’d robbed the Bank of the Rockies. I amended the introduction to include that I was the widow his father had cheated out of a ranch.

  Callum made no secret of his assessment of me, taking in everything from head to foot and back again. I did the same to him, not shying away from looking him in the face. I let my gaze linger on the polished silver mask, the way it cupped his chin, and how a rigid strip of leather attached just below his temple curved around his ear, like the arm of a pair of eyeglasses. But for his deformity, Callum Connolly might have been the best-looking man I’d ever met.

  —Have you sent for the sheriff?

  —Not as of yet.

  —Before you do, and I know Dorcas is champing at the bit, I’d hoped you might give me the opportunity to explain, and to repay you. With interest.

  Callum Connolly’s office is spare in the extreme, with only a desk, two chairs facing it and a coat rack by the door. A massive map of Colorado with pins bearing little flags with names of mines written on them hangs on the wall behind the desk. My eyes traveled to the Fort Collins area, where a large plat of land had been colored red by different pencils at different times. I know that map. Had seen it many times in Colonel Connolly’s office at his ranch, when the plat in the middle had been white, and all that stood in the way of his fifty-thousand-acre dream.

  But the most interesting part of his office was the safe in the corner.

  Callum Connolly sat in his desk chair, leaned back, and crossed his boot over his knee.

  I sat even though he didn’t ask me to and spun him the story I came to tell. It was the truth, for the most part. It had to be, since Dorcas stood sentinel at the door behind me.

  —After your father cheated me out of my ranch—

  Dorcas grunted in disagreement.

  —I was destitute, winter was coming on, and I had a family to feed. I’m sure you understand that making a living on my back wasn’t an option. I suppose I could have found a job as a schoolteacher, but the idea of living on the uncertain charity of farmers dependent on how the crops came in wasn’t appealing. More than that, I couldn’t bear to stay in the territory, not after having my own ranch, knowing that freedom. That happiness. I’ll confess, I was angry. More than angry, and the idea of taking something from your father was appealing. I’d been hearing men brag about outlawing for years, and thought, How difficult could it be? I would steal from the colonel’s bank, get my pound of flesh, and move my family out of the territory. Start a new life. And that’s what we did.

  Dorcas couldn’t believe I’d admitted it.

  —I can hardly deny it when I told the teller to send my regards to the colonel.

  Callum Connolly raised his eyebrows and glanced at his aunt. He nodded, and she left the room. I swallowed my doubt and continued with my plan.

  —This is a check for the amount I stole, plus four years’ worth of interest.

  —How did you come into so much money?

  —I took a page from your father’s book; I invested. In the California State Telegraph Company.

  —Where have you been these past four years?

  —Here and there. When my return was significant enough, I decided it was time to make amends to your father. Imagine my surprise when I found out he’d died.

  —Yes. Three years ago.

  —May I ask how?

  —Peacefully. In his sleep.

  I know that for a lie, but it was the story I’d read in the paper as well.

  —How odd. He was such a vibrant man.

  —Why now?

  —Excuse me?

  —Why have you decided to make amends?

  —Does it matter?

  —Yes.

  I stood and went to the window that looked out over Colfax Avenue and saw Dorcas Connolly escorting a policeman to arrest me. I turned to my prey with tears moistening my eyes.

  —I’m dying, Mr. Connolly. I have an inoperable tumor and have been given a short amount of time to live. Weeks, maybe a few months if I lie in bed. It is what my family wants. That is not in my nature, however.

  —Your nature is to take a risk by coming to my office and confessing to stealing thousands of dollars?

  —Ten thousand, two hundred forty-seven dollars, to be exact. And this.

  I placed the deed to the Poudre River Ranch on his desk.

  —I know Dorcas has gone for the sheriff, and I will go without a fight. In fact, I will be happy to stand trial. My affairs are in order, my family taken care of, and there’s a good possibility I’ll be dead before the trial takes place. But if it did, I would be happy to tell the story on the record about how your father took advantage of a woman alone, how he gave me an ultimatum of marriage or destitution and followed through with the latter. When my terminal illness comes to light, I’m quite sure that the court of public opinion will swing my way. I wouldn’t be surprised if other men and women your father wronged and stole from came forward to support me. Is that what you want your business to be known to be built on? Theft of property? The manipulation of a widow? I will be dead and quickly forgotten, but the cloud will hover over your interests for years. I’m offering to settle this quietly, for you and your late father to retain your reputation, and for me to retain mine.

  Dorcas entered with a tall, lanky man wearing a tin star.

  —There she is, Sheriff. She admitted to robbing the Bank of the Rockies in ’73.

  —Is this true, Mr. Connolly?

  Callum Connolly and I hadn’t taken our eyes off each other. He tapped the check on the desk and looked at it.

  —She did. But she’s also paid what she stole back, with a very generous interest rate.

  —Do you want me to arrest her?

  —Of course he does.

  —No. Sorry to put you out, Sheriff.

  The sheriff tipped his hat to Callum and left.

  —That will be all, Dorcas.

  —You’re making a mistake, Callum.

  —When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it.

  Dorcas left the room in a huff.

  I asked Callum how my ranch was, and he smiled (though I could only see one half of his lips) and said he’d liked my ranch house much better than his father’s and had been living there since he’d come west to take over his father’s businesses.

  —I suppose you’ve made it your own on the inside.

  —No, actually. It is just as I found it. What my father did to it before I came I don’t know.

  —I was thinking of riding down, to see it one last time. Could you give me a letter to present to the foreman so I’m allowed?

  —I’ll do you one better. I’ll take you myself.

  —Oh. How very kind.

  Though hardly part of the plan.

  —Are you sure it’s no trouble?

  —None at all. I planned on going this weekend. I have some business to take care of before I make a circuit of my holdings.

  —How long does that take you?

  —A month. Depending on what disasters I come across.

  —Not many, I hope.

  He smiled tightly and stood.

  —I will pick you up at ten a.m. on Friday. Where are you staying?

  —The Ame
rican House.

  —Pack for the weekend. I’ll put you on the return train to Denver on Sunday.

  Definitely not part of the plan. I smiled and shook his hand.

  —Thank you, Mr. Connolly, for being so understanding. I know you didn’t have to be.

  —On the contrary. It would be impossible to discover what my father found so appealing about you while you’re in jail.

  —Yes, I am an acquired taste.

  —I look forward to it.

  It was too easy. Callum Connolly is up to something.

  This is going to be fun.

  13

  WPA Slave Narrative Collection

  Interview with Henrietta Lee

  Sunday, September 13, 1936

  You hear about that woman who flew her plane across the country? Markham, that’s her. Don’t that beat all? You know I flew in one of those Jennys once. With Bessie Coleman. Yes, I did. I suppose things are changing a bit. Of course it’s tougher to hide women’s accomplishments with the radio and movies and telegraph available everywhere. When I was up in that plane, the air in my face, looking down at the earth like that, I sure did wish I was younger. You better believe I would have learned to fly. I think on everything I’ve seen in my life and I marvel. I was born in 1844, did you know that? Louisiana. Nah, haven’t been back there since the end of the war. No good memories for me there.

  “Travel back in 1877 was slow, especially when you’re twisting and turning through the mountains. Take us ten days to get to Rock Springs from the Hole in a wagon. It was probably a hundred miles as the crow flies, but the only place in the West you could travel as the crow flew was the plains. Doubt there’s an automobile road to the Hole today. Sure as hell too remote for telegraph, then or now. Made it a great place to hide. You could go faster on a horse, of course. I like to imagine what the view would look like flying over the mountains, along the Green River valley that made up Brown’s Hole. I bet it’s a pretty sight. It was pretty on the ground, and that’s a fact.