Heresy

by Melissa Lenhardt

  —I’m not sure if she attends meetings, but I know she sympathizes with them. It’s all over the papers how the easterners are coming out here to give talks on the amendment. It is a tactical error by Governor Routt. People don’t take kindly to outsiders telling them what to do.

  —Unfortunately, being an Englishwoman, no one will want to hear my take on women’s suffrage.

  —If England had given women the vote, they might.

  —There goes my idea of riding my horse through the mountains, saying goodbye to its glorious beauty, and stumping for suffrage along the way.

  —You are welcome to come with me on my tour.

  —Another proposition?

  —This one is purely professional. You can act as my secretary, as Dorcas would have. Are you well enough to come? It will be two weeks, at least.

  —I am fully supplied with hashish and laudanum.

  —I thought your tobacco smelled funny.

  —Why would you want me along?

  —I like arguing with you.

  I laughed.—Well, I imagine we would do plenty of that.

  —There is one condition.

  —Yes?

  —No stumping.

  —Agreed.

  Saturday, August 11, 1877

  Poudre River Ranch, Colorado

  I feel a little taken in. Callum told me this morning over breakfast that guests would be arriving today and he would be having a dinner party tonight. When I said I didn’t have anything to wear, he smiled and said he’d taken the liberty of bringing a dress for me and that it would be in my room when I finished breakfast.

  It is a shocking red dress with a fitted bodice and a straight skirt with a small bustle in the back. Black lace trims the three-quarter sleeves and frames the small opal buttons that run down the center of the bodice. I suppose I should be thankful the neckline is modest, but everything else about the dress is horrid, like nothing I would ever wear. Zhu Li came into the room, sewing kit in hand, and told me she would alter it however I wanted. There wasn’t much hope that I would like the dress no matter what she did, but I had her remove all the lace, making it nominally less offensive. The dress fit me perfectly, a fact I didn’t examine too closely.

  Callum left to help round up cattle while I was working with Zhu Li, which suited me perfectly. It gave us a chance to catch up without fear of being interrupted. It has been three years since I saw Zhu Li, and she hadn’t changed a bit. She still wore a beige linen tunic and pants and her hair in a long ponytail down her back. She still covered her mouth when she giggled, to hide her crooked teeth. Her eyes still crinkled when she laughed, and she talked to herself under her breath in Mandarin as she worked.

  Jehu had brought her home from Denver about six months after Thomas died, and she had immediately taken over our kitchen. It never ran so well before or since, even though Joanie learned a lot about organization and timing a dinner at Zhu Li’s elbow. In an effort to beat me by attrition, Colonel Connolly had enticed Zhu Li to work for him for double what she made with me, which was still well below what she was worth. The women who stayed with us worked for room and board and a little Saturday spending money, so it hadn’t taken much for the colonel to lure her away. We didn’t blame her in the slightest; a woman alone had to look out for herself and her own financial well-being.

  When she finished pinning my dress I asked after the man she had been seeing three years ago, and with a beaming expression she told me they were married and that he was Bohai. No children, and she said they would most likely not come, that she was too old to have children. It shocked me. I’d never known how old she was, but her smooth face and dark hair made it difficult to believe she was past the childbearing age. She didn’t ask after my family, knowing that my answer would have been much the same as it had been the last time I saw her.

  I told her that I would be writing letters at Callum’s desk. She told me to come to her if I needed anything at all and went into the kitchen, where Bohai and another man were sweating over a worktable and stove, getting ready for the dinner.

  I closed the door without latching it and went to the desk. This had been the objective: Callum’s office. In the absence of being able to break into his Denver office, I hoped to be able to parse enough information about his businesses from correspondence here to know which were the best to hit. I’d never dreamed he would ask me to go on his business tour with him. I suppose I should thank whatever poor, starving man mugged Dorcas two nights ago for this great stroke of luck. But it didn’t hurt to do a little snooping when I had the chance.

  I found a piece of paper and pen and started a letter to give a sheen of truth to my lie in case I was caught. I looked out the window and saw the cowboys busy in the corral, went to the door and listened and heard only the faint sounds of the cooks.

  A stack of letters revealed negotiations for investment in a smelter near Oro City, a letter from a marble miner trying to gin up interest for a mine in the Crystal River Valley, an update on mining operations in the Sweetwater area of Wyoming, a raunchy love letter from a woman named Daisy accompanied by a racy photo. She was rather pretty, but she surely must be a whore. A respectable woman, even a mistress, wouldn’t have such a photo taken. I flipped it over and saw a familiar mark denoting the photographer, though no name. I shook my head. Looked like Rosemond had expanded her portraiture business. I hoped she kept Newt out of it.

  These letters, while interesting, did nothing to further my purpose. The bottom desk drawer was closed and locked but was easy enough to open with the letter opener. I grinned and pulled out a ledger. I flipped through it and discovered it was merely the accounts for the ranch. I ran my finger down the details of their horse operation. The army was a big client, which was no surprise. I swore under my breath when I saw the profit line. The Connollys were reaping the benefits of the ranch I’d started, the herd I’d nurtured and bred into the horses they were selling the army, and others, at a pretty penny. Goddammit.

  I stared out the office window, not seeing what was in front of me, seething with the injustice of it all. I had never understood why the colonel had been so hell-bent on destroying me. We weren’t in direct competition, so why couldn’t we have coexisted, helped each other out? It could only be pride and greed that had driven the colonel. Two of the seven deadly sins, three if you count what he did to me as wrath, and I do. I take some comfort in knowing that the colonel is burning in hell, but not much.

  I need to get out of this house.

  Saturday, August 11, 1877 cont

  I am dressed in this red monstrosity and have a half hour before dinner to put down the events of the remainder of the day. I hope the dinner will be dull and end early so I can go to bed. Pain ramps up in the evening.

  This afternoon I changed into my habit and went to the barn. I retrieved my horse (whom I have decided to name Storm after his dark-gray coat) from his stall and tied him to a ring fastened to the wall outside the tack room.

  —Can I help you?

  I jumped and turned. A cowboy stood in the door, bright light framing his silhouette and casting his face into darkness. Fear pulsed through me.

  —I’m sorry, I was looking for brushes.

  —Miss Margaret? Is it really you?

  The cowboy removed his hat and moved closer. I could see that he was young, no more than twenty, I guessed. He wore khaki pants and a denim work shirt with a red bandanna knotted around his neck. His fair hair was flattened against his head, and he had deep brown eyes framed with dark eyelashes. The memory of a small, shy boy clinging to his mother’s leg came into my mind.

  —Ezekiel?

  His face flushed red with pleasure and he stammered out,—You remember me?

  —Of course I do.

  He and his mother, Lana Barnes, had been the first people Jehu had brought home with him. I told her she was welcome to stay as long as she needed if she pulled her weight. She and Zeke had stayed for six months, enough time for her to heal from her outer w
ounds, as well as her inner ones. She’d answered an ad in the paper for a housekeeper at a boardinghouse in Golden and had gotten the job. When she and Zeke left, Lana asked if she could tell others about the ranch. I said of course, there would always be room for those in need. In addition to the women Jehu rescued, our ranch became something of an underground railroad for women who wanted to escape abusive, drunken husbands, controlling pimps or madams, or, sometimes, overbearing families.

  —It’s so good to see you, Zeke. How is your mother?

  —Good. She and her husband live in Black Hawk. They own a boardinghouse.

  —Does she? That’s wonderful.

  —It’s all thanks to you.

  —Oh, Zeke. No. Your mother was a wonderful woman. Smart and strong. I had no doubt when you left that she would do well. Look at you, all grown up, and a cowboy, just like you wanted.

  —Yes, ma’am. I came back here in ’75, looking for you and Mr. Thomas and Jehu.

  —You came here for us?

  —Yes, ma’am. I wanted to thank you, maybe see if you would take me on.

  —I sure would have.

  —I was right angry when I learned what happened to you. I didn’t know the details when I took the job, I want you to know that.

  —That’s very sweet to say, Zeke.

  —It’s the truth. If the old man hadn’t died right before I got here, I would have killed him myself.

  —Oh, Zeke, no.

  The boy’s expression had an intensity, and his voice took on an urgency, that caught me off guard, but made my heart swell with emotion.

  —Miss Margaret, you don’t understand. I don’t think my ma ever told you the whole story about us.

  She hadn’t told me anything, and I hadn’t asked. It wasn’t my place to pry into people’s business, into what had brought them to us. Lana Barnes’s cuts, bruises, and skittishness told a story well enough.

  —Y’all saved us. We’d have been dead for years now if it wasn’t for Jehu buying me an ice cream. And then you and Mr. Thomas treating us so nice. My ma does the same now, you know. Helps people in need like you did. She married a good man who’s plumb happy to let her boss him around.

  Emotion clogged my throat, but I laughed. Lana had been a little bossy, once she got used to us.

  —That’s so wonderful to hear, Zeke. Tell her I am happy for her.

  —You should go see her. She would love it.

  I smiled, swallowed the lump in my throat.

  —I might just do that. But right now, I want to go for a ride.

  —I’ve got something for you.

  He went to the back corner of the tack room and pulled a cloth off a saddle horse. There, bright and shiny as new, was my husband Thomas’s English saddle.

  I gasped.—Zeke.

  After the colonel stole the ranch from me, and we went through what little money we had, the first things we sold were our horses and tack. We had the idea to make a go of it in a town, thinking there would be more opportunities available for us. There were, of course, but nothing that any of us wanted to do for a living. When Spooner took us to Timberline, we kitted up with western saddles and mountain ponies. No one wanted a horse broken with an English saddle, and there wasn’t enough time to ride for pleasure.

  —I found this ole pancake back here in the corner all dusty and cobwebby when I was cleaning out the tack room. I knew it must have been yours. It took me a while to get the leather supple again, lots of soap, a little bit of linseed oil, and it’s good as new. Want me to saddle your horse with it?

  —Yes. You think he’ll take it?

  —Sure thing. Broke him myself. He can be ridden without a saddle or bridle.

  —Jehu would be proud of you.

  —How is Jehu? Is he with you?

  I told him Jehu was doing fine and tried to tell him as much as possible about our life without revealing too much. When he finished I thanked him and asked him for a favor.

  —Anything.

  —Don’t let anyone know you know me, especially Callum. And keep what I’ve told you to yourself.

  Zeke nodded.

  —Whatever you say, Miss Margaret. Don’t forget to go visit my ma. Anything you need, anything at all, she can help.

  I put my foot into his cupped hands and he boosted me on Storm’s back. The horse danced a little, as eager to let loose as I was.

  —He’s a fiesty one, but he’s got a sensitive mouth, so … Zeke stopped and blushed, realizing whom he was giving advice to. I thanked him anyway and with a nod, I trotted Storm out of the back of the barn toward a stagecoach trail up beyond the first row of foothills. Storm summited the hill easily. We turned right, and I gave the horse his head, toward Colonel Connolly’s ranch.

  Though I don’t need another reason to want this beautiful horse, when I’m riding I forget the pain in my stomach, which is growing more insistent with each passing day. I’m weaker, as well, and it is taking all of my mental acuity to hide the depth of my sickness from everyone: Callum, Hattie, Grace. I’m thankful I have planning the heists to occupy my mind, otherwise I would be curled into a ball in bed. When I’m busy, I’m distracted, and if I don’t think about the pain, it recedes. The challenge then becomes fatigue. I can either have less pain and be tired, or rest and be in pain. I’ll take the former, thank you very much.

  I wonder if I will survive the trip with Callum. I imagine that if there’s an issue with a business, he’ll extend his trip. Do I want to die in a strange hotel, away from those I love, with a man I’m ambivalent about as the only witness to my last moments on earth?

  I don’t want to die in bed, that I know for certain. I watched Thomas waste away, fully aware that he was wasting away. It was a humiliating and shameful way for a man, once so strong and full of vigor, to leave the world. When I think of Thomas, I think of him as a living cadaver in our bed, the sheets folded across his chest, his arms thin and spindly outside the blanket and next to his body. I want to be remembered as healthy, vibrant, clever, resilient, and most importantly, selfless. Asking my family to watch me die would be cruel, and I hope I’ve never been that.

  If it wouldn’t be a betrayal to my family, to the bond I have with Hattie, Jehu, and the sisters, I would ride off on my own, south to the Grand Canyon, find a ledge to sit on, watch the sun rise and set, see firsthand the brilliant colors I’ve heard so much about, and fade away. With a large bottle of laudanum and whisky, of course. I don’t want to die in pain if I can help it. But surrounded by beauty? That’s the way to go.

  Maybe I should have a gun on the ledge with me, too.

  I reined up, dismounted Storm, and tied him to a scrubby tree. I clambered up a small rocky rise, sat down heavily on the outcropping, and looked down upon the colonel’s ranch in the distance. I let my mind wander to Zeke and his mother and the dozens of other women and children and the few men who came through our ranch. A few had kept in touch, written us letters letting us know where they ended up, what they were doing. Others left and we never heard from them again. I wish I could say that helping people became a mission of mine, a calling (though by now, Grace, you know I don’t believe in God), but it was simply the right thing to do. Thomas and I didn’t have much, though I could see how someone might think we did, looking at our tidy little horse ranch on the Poudre River. But turning away people who asked for help was never considered. Thomas and I never discussed it, though he would joke about Jehu bringing home strays.

  Zeke’s compliments and effusive thanks embarrassed me, if you want to know the truth of it. I hardly deserve credit for changing their lives when I offered them room and board in return for an honest day’s work. I’m glad to hear about Lana’s happiness and success, and Zeke has turned into a dab hand at breaking horses if Storm is any indication.

  I unbuttoned my vest, lay back on the rock, covered my face with my hat, and listened—to the insects buzzing nearby, the pit-er-wick and hoodle-hoodle calls of birds in the trees high above, the wind rustling the leaves, the
shush of brush disturbed by an animal. Peace and quiet. Only the sound of a bubbling brook would make the moment more perfect.

  I felt the lump in my abdomen and wondered if I hadn’t made a mistake in not going east and having an operation. Or at least going to Denver and having another doctor examine me. But there hadn’t been any pain at that point, and part of me hadn’t believed there would be any pain in the end. I felt great, after all. Life went on, we did another job, had horses to break, a ranch to run, winter to survive. By the time it started hurting I figured it was too late. I didn’t want to take the chance I wouldn’t return from Chicago. So I’ve been going about the process of tidying up the last few months, making sure that Jehu, Hattie, Joan, and Stella know everything they need to know, that they are prepared for a time when I won’t be around. They are. In fact, I’ve started to feel a little superfluous and wonder what I contribute to the ranch at all. I see my last days spread out in front of me, sitting by the fire, a Navajo blanket on my lap, being waited on by everyone, the dog at my feet looking up at me with sad brown eyes. The stagecoach job was a welcome distraction, one last hurrah before Margaret Parker faded into history. Then you had to tempt me with immortality, and the idea of fading away, already anathema to me, became unbearable.

  I suppose I should thank Jed Spooner, the bastard, for throwing down this bet and giving me a reason to live. I haven’t told Hattie yet, but I don’t intend to return to Timberline. I haven’t quite figured out how I’m going to slip away from her, or you, Grace, but I am. I said my goodbyes before I left the Hole.

  If our mark is big enough, the take will set them up for years, and I can die knowing they are taken care of. That’s why I have to go with Callum on this tour, to find the best target, the most lucrative one, the one where we are least likely to get caught. Maybe there’s one. Maybe there’s five. Maybe it’s as simple as robbing the safe in his Denver office. In three weeks I’ll know.

  I dozed for a while, and when I woke up the sun was just above the foothills. I had no idea what time dinner was, or when the guests would be arriving. Luckily, I had a fast horse who was well rested. I could be at my ranch in thirty minutes or less.