Heresy

by Melissa Lenhardt

  I grimaced against the pain as I rose and took a few deep breaths. Sweat beaded on my upper lip and was dried by the wind almost immediately. Down below, to the north of the colonel’s house, cowboys were driving a large herd of fat cattle toward the ranch, bringing them in from summer grazing to be sold to the army, or shipped off to the meatpacking plants in the East. A thin stream of smoke rose from the house, and near the barns cowboys readied the corrals for the herd. I noticed for the first time that Connolly had fenced in the pasture near the house. I suspected it was Callum’s doing, since the last time I’d been at this spot, observing the house, the fence hadn’t been there.

  No, this wasn’t my first time back, Grace. I’m not sure if I trust you with that story yet.

  Three men walked out of the back of the house. It was too far away to make out their faces, but the glint from Callum’s metal mask flashed in my eyes. I’d been around long enough to recognize the stance of one of the men as that of a cowboy or rustler. The other was rotund and most likely a businessman. I imagine I will meet them at dinner. Hours of talking to businessmen, or listening to them talk about business. It won’t occur to them to ask for my opinion. Little do they know I will give it to them anyways.

  Sunday, August 12, 1877 (midnight)

  I feel like a Christmas goose right now, stuffed past the point of propriety. Zhu Li helped me out of my dress and took it away (I wonder if to keep it handy for the next woman Callum brings to his house), and I’m sitting at the small writing table, in my loose shift, writing this. The wind has picked up outside, and the house is creaking in response. There is a full moon as well. Perfect conditions for a midnight job. I’ve got the fever to do a job. I’m not sure I can wait until October first.

  As much as I didn’t want to participate, as much as Callum sprang the dinner on me last minute, it was possibly one of the most enjoyable dinner parties I’ve ever been to. Granted, I haven’t been to many since I left England, and even then I was young and not expected, or able, to participate in “real” conversation. So, thinking on it, saying this was the best dinner party of my life is rather faint praise. It does make me wonder what I’ve missed. How many dinners like these would I have attended if I’d married the colonel. Probably countless, but I doubt the colonel would have let me speak as freely as his son did tonight, or enjoyed the spectacle of conflicting opinions as much as Callum did.

  First the actors. Governor John Routt and his wife, Eliza; Nathaniel P. Hill, a gold smelter; Lewis and Dorothy Wilson, dry goods proprietors with stores in Cheyenne, Denver, and Golden, and a contract with the military for sutler stores; Callum’s lawyer, Alexander Bisson, and his companion, Evangeline White. Bisson was an unwelcome surprise; he had been the colonel’s lawyer as well, and had done his bidding, namely going to every bank within fifty miles and threatening them with retribution if they lent me money to keep my Poudre River ranch going.

  Callum must have warned Bisson I would be in attendance, at least. Bisson greeted me as an old friend. I told him he’d gotten fat. His companion, pleasantly plump and pretty and obviously being paid for her time, covered her smile by looking away. Bisson’s face froze in a ridiculous grin before sliding into a frown.

  —I hear you’re dying.

  —We’re all dying, Alex. I just have a better notion of the date.

  Callum intervened and ushered me away. I chastised him for not warning me about Bisson.

  —I didn’t make the connection you two would know each other.

  —Liar. He knows I’m sick, you must have discussed me.

  Callum’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he dipped his head in a semblance of contrition, saying he hadn’t realized we had an antagonistic relationship.

  I laughed, then dropped my voice so the others wouldn’t overhear.

  —We are having dinner in what was my house, the house my husband and I built together, and you didn’t think I would have an antagonistic relationship with the lawyer who helped steal it from me? I am not stupid, Callum. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but know this: I’m not easily manipulated.

  —Neither am I.

  Callum pulled out the chair at the end of the table, where the hostess would sit.

  —Do me the honor, he said in a low voice.

  I looked down the table and realized all of the places were assigned, and the men were waiting for me to be seated. I had little choice, so I sat down, and his hands lingered on my shoulders. He put his masked face close to mine and whispered that he had known red would be my color. I shivered, not in pleasure.

  Bisson glared at me, and I pointedly looked at his stomach, which touched the edge of the table. Evangeline White raised her eyebrows and glanced between Callum and me with a knowing expression, and I realized she thought I was Callum’s lover. He sat at the other end of the table and smiled around at his guests, looking relaxed and in charge. He leaned forward to listen to something Eliza Routt said and laughed, his blue eyes almost sparkling. He was in high spirits, and I wondered why.

  It didn’t take long to realize he was in his element. He was charming and engaging, and he put all his guests at ease by talking on a variety of subjects, subjects the women could discuss as well as the men. We were barely into the soup course when the subject of suffrage was brought up. Apparently the governor is a supporter, his wife is heavily involved in the cause, and he had arranged for the East Coast suffragists to tour Colorado promoting it.

  —You have school suffrage, which is perfectly adequate. Child rearing is the purview of women, so of course they should have their voices heard on education, Lewis Wilson said.

  —You approve of women running for the school boards, then? Eliza Routt said.

  —Heavens, no. Leadership is the purview of men.

  I asked why he thought men were better leaders than women.

  —It is the natural order of things, of course. Men have the mental capacity for complicated issues and make decisions based on facts and not emotions.

  —That’s ridiculous, Eliza Routt said.

  —We have a perfect example of the failure of women’s leadership and business acumen sitting at this table, Bisson said, looking directly at me.

  —Women need capital to run a business, same as men. It is difficult to do when banks are strong-armed into not lending to you, I said.

  —That’s why I own a bank, Callum said, and he turned the conversation to Nathaniel Hill’s smelter.

  Hill enthusiastically took over the conversation and talked of his plans to expand to other towns, wandering into a tangent about how he’d gone to Wales to work with the miners and perfect their process for Colorado gold. We were well into the main course by the time he finished explaining, in painstaking detail, how it worked. He was a scientist who had at least had the business acumen to open his own smelter instead of working for someone else, though I imagined the pitch of an investment opportunity would come Callum’s way when the men had retired to drink whisky and smoke cigars.

  The governor didn’t seem to want anything from Callum, but instead was eager to do for Callum, one of the largest investors in the state.

  —I can assure you, reining in the crime in this state is my administration’s top priority. There are difficulties, of course, with policing the central areas, let alone the remote ones.

  —As my client is well aware, Bisson said.

  —Yes, I heard you were robbed again, Connolly. I’ve upped security at my smelter as a precaution. How much did they get? Hill asked.

  —Eight thousand.

  There were gasps around the table. I did my best to look shocked as well.

  —Callum, I had no idea, I said.

  —I would imagine not, just returning to town as you did.

  —I thought you’d hired Pinkerton to take care of it, Hill said.

  Yes, and I am in the process of turning her outlaw. I hid my smile of pleasure behind my wineglass.

  —I did, and he protected the wrong shipment. The gang is a clever
bunch.

  My ears perked up at that. He? Who is Grace working for if not Callum?

  —How many times have you been robbed? Evangeline asked.

  —And by the same group? Eliza Routt said.

  —Four times. I’m not sure it’s the same gang. The descriptions of the bandits change every time. They do appear to be targeting my businesses exclusively.

  —You are one of the biggest investors in Colorado, and I suppose the risk goes with the territory, I said.

  —You could be right.

  —What is Pinkerton doing now? Hill asked.

  —He has sent his best agent to infiltrate the gang.

  —Sounds a good idea, Governor Routt said.

  —I’ve heard rumors they’re a female gang. Is that right? Evangeline said.

  The men scoffed, all talking about how ridiculous an idea it was. Except Callum. He was watching me while the others talked over each other about how women were more moral, lacked the intelligence, the mental capacity, the courage, and John and Eliza Routt defended women’s intelligence, but didn’t approve of criminal activity no matter the sex.

  —Margaret, you’re quiet.

  —As are you.

  —What do you think of the idea that the gang is female, pretending to be men?

  —What does it matter if it’s women or men? You are still being robbed.

  —True. I just thought you might have an insight into the possibility since, of the people surrounding this table, you are the only one who has befriended an outlaw.

  I glanced at Evangeline, who had taken a keen interest in cutting her steak. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s serviced an outlaw or two in her time, maybe even Spooner. She was his type: voluptuous, blonde, and willing.

  —Are you asking me if I think women have the intelligence and cunning to be outlaws?

  —Yes.

  —Of course they do.

  —They would never get away with it, with the way women like to talk so, Hill said.

  I found that a highly ironic statement coming from the man who’d spent almost two courses talking without pause. By her chuckle, Evangeline did, too.

  —That’s unfair. I know plenty of women who keep their own counsel. I doubt it because of the immorality of it, Dorothy Wilson said.

  —Stealing is stealing. Why should it be more amoral, more shocking, for one sex to do it than the other? I asked.

  —It’s not in women’s nature, Hill said.

  —Precisely, Dorothy Wilson said.

  —I assure you, human nature is the same for women and men. Men can love with the same depth women do, and women can hate with the same intensity as men.

  —But women would never do such a thing. It wouldn’t cross their minds, Dorothy Wilson said.

  —You don’t know of one woman who would admit to it. Think of the women who steal to feed their families. Is there a difference between a woman and a man who steal bread, or fruit, or money, if the purpose—taking care of their family—is the same?

  —There is not, Eliza Routt said.

  —So why should there be a difference if a female outlaw gang steals from a larger … target than a bakery or fruit stand? If their goal is the same as men’s, then the morality behind it is equal.

  —I don’t even understand what you’re saying, Dorothy Wilson said.

  —You think women should be held to the same moral standard as men, not a higher one, Callum said.

  —Why are women held to higher standards, except to let men have their vices without guilt? I asked.

  —You don’t give our sex much credit for goodness, do you?

  —To those who deserve credit for goodness I will.

  I thought of Luke here, wondered what he was doing, and almost lost the thread of the conversation.

  —Equality for men and women is what you want?

  Wilson and Bisson laughed long and hard, as did Dorothy Wilson. Evangeline and Eliza watched with expectation, the governor with consternation, as if it suddenly occurred to him that the cause wouldn’t end with suffrage, that women would continue to agitate for more rights. Callum watched me with level eyes, waiting for my answer. I understood his implication well enough; equality in credit meant equality in punishment. It was a trap and I refused to be caught.

  —I fear we will have to wait decades for that to come to fruition. And I was talking in generalities about women. We aren’t given enough credit for our intelligence, and too much credit for our morals. Evangeline, what do you think?

  —Oh, I … uh …

  —Jed Spooner is taking credit for the robberies. Tell me, Mrs. Parker, you knew Jed Spooner once, does that sound like something he would do? Callum asked.

  —Rob you? Yes.

  Everyone around the table laughed.

  —It’s almost as if he has a vendetta against me.

  —I wouldn’t know anything about that.

  —How did you know Jed Spooner? the governor asked.

  —My husband hired him on at our ranch, and they became friends, after a fashion. Jed would come and go, and he always had fantastical stories to tell on his return. We didn’t believe half of what he said. To answer your question without being glib, Callum, do I think Jed would go back to a well over and over that had been so fruitful? Yes.

  —I can’t believe you harbored an outlaw, Eliza Routt said.

  —We didn’t know he was an outlaw at first. Jed bought our horses, and brought us business, and had become our friend by the time we discovered it. So we looked the other way. As far as I know, he has always eschewed violence. I assure you, if that were not the case, we wouldn’t have offered him sanctuary.

  —What is Spooner’s goal? To feed his family? Callum asked. Our eyes were locked, and I knew he was playing with me.

  —Because he wasn’t good at anything else. He rode with Jesse James, did you know that?

  —I did not.

  —He left because James can’t seem to let go of the war, and he is violent. Spooner avoids violence wherever he can. He outlaws because it’s fun, and he’s good at it. Sometimes there’s a purpose; he robbed a bank once to get the money to pay a lawyer to get one of his men out of jail.

  —Why not just break him out?

  —Maybe he’s a coward? Maybe he was afraid to get caught? Maybe it was in Montana Territory, where he made an agreement to never set foot again on threat of hanging. I don’t remember. It was all a long time ago.

  —Maybe Mrs. Parker can help you find him, Callum, Hill said.

  I laughed and told them I’d been out of the territory for years and hadn’t spoken with Jed Spooner since I left.

  —I imagine Spooner was disappointed to see you leave, Bisson said.

  —Why is that, Alex?

  —He stayed on at your ranch after your husband died.

  —And he left a good year before your boss stole it. So what are you implying, exactly?

  —Maybe if he’d stayed on you wouldn’t have lost your ranch.

  I laughed long and hard.

  —Jed is a terrible businessman. Why do you think he’s an outlaw? Are you sure that’s what you were implying? That I would miss Jed’s … business skills? Or were you implying he was my lover, Mr. Bisson?

  —Mrs. Parker, I think you’ve dominated the conversation long enough, Lewis Wilson said.

  —Yes, what’s for dessert? his wife asked.

  I was angry now, and I wasn’t going to let this man insult me with insinuations. I wanted to shock the group, and why not? The hit my reputation would take would be short-lived.

  God, Grace, dying is so freeing.

  More to the point, I was ready for this dinner to end.

  —You aren’t going to answer, Alex?

  —You’re embarrassing yourself.

  —Very likely. But you see, I don’t care. That’s the freedom of knowing you have little time to live.

  —What? Evangeline said.

  —I have cancer, Evangeline. Please don’t pity me. I’m not afraid
of dying, and I’m obviously not afraid of not being “respectable” by calling Alex out for the … subtext in his conversation. Since I’ll never see any of you again, I’ll answer: yes, Spooner was my lover. It was one of the reasons I turned down the colonel’s marriage proposal. I couldn’t very well have a lover on the side, and I wasn’t quite ready to give Spooner up. By the time Spooner left, I’d insulted the colonel too much to go back on my rejection. I didn’t want to marry him anyways. After Spooner … Well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.

  —You are a harlot, Lewis Wilson said.

  —Mr. Wilson, your opinion matters not at all to me.

  —What about your reputation? Eliza asked.

  —I’ll be beyond caring soon enough. Now, if you don’t mind. I tire easily these days and must beg to be excused.

  Callum nodded his head and said of course I could be excused.

  —Thank you. It was a delicious dinner, and I hope I was adequate entertainment, which I believe it was my role to play. Good night.

  So here I am. In my room, unable to sleep. The pain comes in waves, and since we are leaving tomorrow I don’t want to take too much laudanum. I am going for a smoke and will have to get dressed in case the men are still awake talking, drinking whisky, and smoking.

  August 12, 1877 cont (2:00 a.m.)

  My heart is racing and my hand is shaking after the encounter I had with Callum. I’m almost certain he suspects me. I need to get the events down in case …

  I’d planned to smoke the cigarette outside on the back porch, maybe nick a sugar cube from the kitchen to take to Storm, and if the house was quiet when I was done, do a little more snooping in the office.

  I found Callum sitting in front of the fire. He turned his head slightly when he heard my footsteps and said he hoped he hadn’t woken me. I demurred, said I’ve been having trouble sleeping for weeks. He was solicitous about my pain, said he had something I could take if I liked.

  I showed him my cigarette, lit it with a punk from the fireplace and leaned against the mantel. His mask was balanced on his knee. His face was in shadow.