In the Shadow of the Mountains

by Rosanne Bittner

  Black Kettle’s band of southern Cheyenne near Sand Creek had been attacked by Chivington and nearly wiped out. The headlines were filled with the “great victory,” but Kirk suspected it was nothing more than a massacre of peaceful Indians. He could not help wondering if Gray Bird Woman was still alive, and if she had been a part of the slaughter, and if Yellow Eagle had been involved. He knew from experience that what had happened at Sand Creek would only make matters worse. Black Kettle had been peacefully camped, waiting for instructions about where the U.S. government wanted him and his people to go. The rest of the Cheyenne would be furious over the unnecessary killing.

  The Volunteers paraded through Denver, receiving praise and cheers from the crowd in the streets. Irene watched for Chad, finally spotting him not far away. Elly watched also, calling out to him, but as soon as he caught sight of Irene, he headed straight for her. Elly pouted and stormed back to the Kirkland offices.

  Irene was astonished at the gaunt look on Chad’s face. To her surprise, he reached down and hoisted her up onto his horse in front of him, riding off with her. He headed out of town, through a fresh, deep snow and up toward their house, saying nothing. He finally stopped when they were well away from the people and the noise, but before they reached the house.

  He dismounted, helping her down, and Irene pulled a fur cape closer around her. “Chad, what is it? You look terrible. Were you wounded?”

  Their eyes met, and he suddenly embraced her. “It was awful, Irene,” he said hoarsely. “I couldn’t be a part of that parade any longer, letting people cheer us as if we were great conquerors.”

  She leaned back and looked up at him, astonished to see tears in his eyes. “Chad, what is it?”

  A bitter smile crossed his mouth. “That was no victory. It was a slaughter. Chivington just wanted to be able to say he had found some Indians and destroyed them, for his own political gain. They were peaceful, Irene. That village was made up mostly of women and children.”

  He turned away. In spite of his own immoral deeds, even Chad Jacobs could not condone what had happened at Sand Creek. He shook his head, a December wind blowing at his sandy hair. “The explosions, the gunshots, the screams…they’ll echo in my head for a long time, Irene. I’ve never seen anything like it. I shot two warriors myself, and I feel bad enough about that. We attacked in the early morning. They were peacefully camped, still sleeping. The two men I shot were half naked, barely awake, unarmed.”

  He wiped at his eyes with a shaking hand. “I drew back right away. Then I saw some of the other men raping the Indian women. Others cut off arms, cut out women’s privates while they were still alive, murdered little children.”

  “Chad! My God!”

  He swallowed. “It was like…like being in hell. Black Kettle had an American flag flying over his tipi. He even tried at first to plead with us to stop, showed us his peace medal from the President. I think he got away, but not many did. The worst part…was when they just…kept at it…riding into a ravine where women and children were trying to hide…raping, murdering, running bayonets through babies’ heads.”

  The last words were spoken in a near whisper, and he closed his eyes, real tears trickling down his cheeks. “Denver can cheer now, but this is going to haunt them, Irene…forever. We’re supposed to be civilized, a step above the savages. But those men…proved they’re no different from the Indians. It makes me sick that I was a part of it.”

  He broke into tears, and Irene embraced him. For now, at least, Chad had turned to her, had shown a side of himself rarely displayed. For the moment his cocky arrogance had left him, and he truly seemed to need her. His sudden vulnerability made her pity him, even made it easier to love him. Maybe after being away from her, and after the horrible experience that made him turn to her, he would try harder to love her and be true to her. Her husband was home, and he needed her. Surely they would be happier now.

  She could only take hope in the moment. Chad wrapped his arms around her and wept. “It was all for nothing,” he sobbed. “The one called Yellow Eagle wasn’t even…caught or killed. Women…children…all for nothing. All that bloodshed…for nothing.”

  Part Four

  An old friendship is like an old piece of china. It is precious only just so long as it is perfect. Once it is broken, no matter how cleverly you mend it, it is good for nothing but to put on a shelf in a corner where it won’t be too closely looked at.

  AMELIA B. EDWARDS

  The New Joy of Words.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  August 1866

  Bea stood watching the street below, proud of how Denver was growing, in spite of the mounting sewer problems. She was helping form a campaign committee to urge people not to litter the streets, and wild dogs were less a problem since the law was passed allowing citizens to shoot them. Still, litter and roaming animals were common, and she frowned with disgust when she saw a man spit tobacco on a boardwalk.

  But there had definitely been progress. Most of the streets were dirt, but some were being bricked, and just below her window men were laying rails for horse-drawn trolley cars. She and Kirk were both founders of the Denver Horse and Railway Company, which by 1867 would be in full operation, hauling visitors and shoppers to their destinations by trolley car and helping limit the number of animals and thus the amount of smelly dung they left in the streets. The trolley line would also help reduce the number of accidents, with fewer wagons, horses, and pedestrians.

  Soon, Bea thought, there would be other rails coming to Denver—the Union Pacific! It had been announced that the government was building a transcontinental railroad, and she could not imagine that it would come west without linking up with the West’s Queen City. Denver’s, indeed, all of Colorado’s, importance would rise dramatically then. Eventually this Territory would be a state. She was determined to see that happen.

  She was also determined that the Mexicans in the south would not secede from the Territory and link up with New Mexico, as they were threatening to do. She was glad so many others shared her own prejudice and hatred for the Mexicans. Again it proved she was right not to trust them, even if her resentment of them was personal. Thank God Ramon Vallejo had left town. He was no longer a threat to Irene’s marriage. She hoped wherever he had gone, he had failed miserably; and she took great pleasure in thinking he had left because he could not be successful in Bea Kirkland’s town. He had been gone two years now. It was obvious he was not coming back.

  She smiled at the thought, going back to sit down at her desk. Yes, things were coming along nicely. Irene and Chad seemed happy, although Irene still had not been able to conceive. She owned two clothing stores now, and was proving herself a very adept businesswoman. It was hard to believe Irene was twenty already, but not hard to believe she had grown even more beautiful.

  The only thing that irritated Bea was her daughter’s generosity. As far as Bea was concerned, Irene devoted far too much time to the shelter for widows and orphans, associated too much with women of a lower class. After all, Kirkland Enterprises gave a great deal of money to charity. That should be enough. Irene should be giving more time to Chad. Bea blamed Irene’s loss of her normally open, happy personality on being around “those women” too much. She was not the same Irene she had been two years ago—still loving and generous, but too somber, as though she were unhappy, when she should be the happiest woman in Denver. She had everything—beauty, money, power, a dashing and attentive husband. What more could her daughter want?

  She leaned over a ledger, studying the latest financial figures for Kirkland Enterprises. Hank Loring was doing well with the cattle business, which was becoming quite profitable. Hank had survived great tragedy, and kept going. She liked that in a person.

  A third Kirkland-owned bank had been opened, and the new lumber mill was doing well. Red McKinley’s idea had been a good one, and now that it was in Kirkland hands, it was going strong. She breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction. Kirk seemed to have gotten over
the incident with Red. No one had heard from the man, and Bea was becoming more confident that they never would.

  The only trouble was, she knew Kirk would never quite forgive her for what had happened, nor would he forgive her support for Chivington’s attack on the Cheyenne at Sand Creek. Kirk had withdrawn to the mountains for six months afterward. It was not that he didn’t realize something needed to be done about the Indian problem; he simply disagreed vehemently with how John Chivington had handled the situation, calling the man a warmonger and an opportunist.

  Even Chad had been despondent after Sand Creek. She had tried to assure him he had done the right thing. She hated seeing the loss of his normally charming, buoyant personality. He had finally recovered his old self, and Denver was slowly getting over what most in the nation considered a shameful incident.

  Now that the Union Pacific and Kansas Pacific were both coming west, it would not be too much longer before the demise of most of the Indians, anyway. Buffalo were being killed off by the thousands, and the roaming range of the Indians had been cut back severely. Kirk had always said the Indians could not survive without the buffalo and without being able to follow the migration of that animal and other wild game. Their days were numbered. The West would be settled, and Denver would be the greatest city between Chicago and San Francisco!

  Bea looked up then as Kirk walked in, carrying an envelope and looking somber. Because of Red McKinley, and their disagreement over the Indians and Mexicans, her relationship with her husband had deteriorated dramatically over the last two years. Kirk no longer came to her bedroom at night, not even once or twice a month as he used to do. They had once at least shared a friendship, but even that was strained now, although they continued to put on a good front for their friends.

  They were more like business partners now, their only common interest protecting Irene and protecting the Kirkland fortune for the children. She knew Kirk took pride in helping Denver grow to prominence, knew how much he loved the area. And she knew she could count on his never leaving her, because he would never leave Colorado, or the city that displayed his name on several buildings. He would never bring shame and disgrace to his children by divorcing the woman who had been a mother to Irene.

  He threw the envelope on her desk. “There’s something that should interest you.”

  She slowly picked it up. “What is it?”

  “Open it up. There’s a valid draft in there for sixteen thousand dollars, from Red McKinley.”

  “What!” She looked inside and pulled out the check, which bore the insignia of the Union Pacific. “This money is from the railroad,” she corrected him.

  “And look who signed it.”

  She noticed Red’s signature at the bottom. “I don’t understand.”

  Kirk was obviously upset as he spoke. “You’re supposed to be the one with the brains, Bea. You ought to be able to figure it out if I could. There’s a letter in there. Red is working for the UP now. He’s a railroad manager working directly under Tom Durant. You know the kind of money we’re talking about when that name is mentioned, enough to make us look like paupers. That money is to pay off Red’s debt to us plus more interest than necessary, which means he’s cut a hell of a deal with the railroad. He also says he’s coming here to Denver with some other railroad representatives to talk about the Union Pacific.”

  “Well, good. Who cares if he works for the railroad, as long as he’s paid off his debt? Apparently you were right about McKinley being a man of his word, so I offer my apologies for not believing he would. And there can be no doubt why he’s coming to Denver. Don’t you see? He wants to bring the UP through Denver, and he’s buttering up Denver’s most important citizens.” She smiled smugly. “He probably wants to buy up some land as cheap as he can get it.”

  Kirk snickered. “I figured you to be smarter, Bea.”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “What do you mean? It’s all quite obvious.”

  He shook his head. “You remember what I said about wounding a man’s pride. He’s up to something. I guarantee it. I know men like Red better than you ever will!”

  Bea sobered slightly, remembering Red’s parting words. “If I can ever find a way to hurt you, lady, I’ll do it…I’m not through with Denver…I’ll be back someday.” “Well,” she spoke up, “if the man is out for some kind of revenge, paying us sixteen thousand dollars is a strange way of showing it.”

  Kirk leaned over the desk. “You’d better understand, Bea, that sixteen thousand dollars is a drop in the bucket for men like Tom Durant! Red is setting us up for something. You can count on it. You’d better call a meeting of Denver’s best and be prepared to wine and dine these railroad men, and you’d better pray Red is coming here for the reason you think he is. If that railroad doesn’t come through Denver, this city might suffer a loss from which it will never recover!”

  Bea rose. “We’ve survived fire and flood, disease, inflation, financial ruin, drought, and Indian troubles. Nothing is going to destroy Denver, Kirk, certainly not one uneducated mountain man. Besides, Denver is much too important to the rest of the country now. There is no way the UP would think of coming west without stopping here. They know we already have engineers working to plan the best route through the mountains.”

  “Well, I know the mountains better than anybody, and the best route is the South Pass, way north of here, out of Colorado Territory. You’d better consider the fact that it’s Red McKinley coming here, and remember the mood he was in when he left. You decide when and where to meet with them, and you send back a letter. Then you pray Red values the friendship he once shared with me more than his desire to hurt you!”

  He abruptly turned and left, and Bea’s heart pounded with dread. She felt relieved when she read Red’s letter, finding no malice in anything he wrote. She called in her secretary and immediately dictated a letter of reply, telling Red that all of Denver welcomed the UP executives to their fine city, and she and Kirk would be glad to have Red and his associates to their home for dinner, to discuss their plans. It irritated her that she was reduced to welcoming a man she hated, but she was willing to put Denver above her own whims. And she couldn’t forget that Red knew about Irene and Yellow Eagle.

  As she dictated the letter, her resentment toward Kirk was rekindled. She hated being put in a beggar’s position, having to cater to Red McKinley. The man would probably gloat and strut his fine, new position with the railroad; but he and his associates would soon see where the real power lay when they came to Denver.

  “I’ll miss you, Chad,” Elly cooed, kissing his bare chest. They lay in Chad and Irene’s bed. It was the servants’ day off, and Rose and Jenny had both gone to town. Irene was at her clothing store, and Chad had supposedly come home to pick up some papers. Seventeen-year-old Elly, home packing for her trip to finishing school, had hurried over to meet him as planned, and they had enjoyed an hour of heated lovemaking.

  “I’m sure you’ll find some male companionship in Chicago,” Chad told her with a grin, fingering her breast.

  Elly lay back, stretching her arms over her head. “I suppose,” she answered, kicking away the blankets so that she lay sprawled completely naked beside him. She was already nearly as big as Bea, but slightly more slender, more youthful looking. It was obvious she would be built exactly like her mother as the years progressed. Chad still found nothing attractive about her except her voracious sexual appetite. One thing was sure—she knew how to make a man feel good, a far cry from her older sister. “And what will you do for comfort while I’m gone?” she asked Chad.

  He rolled on top of her, tasting at her breasts. “I’ll make do.”

  Elly laughed, ruffling his hair. “You won’t find any women better than me, I’ll bet.” How she loved the power she had over this man! More than that, she loved knowing she pleased him more than Irene did. Irene might wear his wedding ring, but Elly possessed him. It was a delicious victory for Elly. She considered her affair with Chad just recompense for
all the years people had gaped over Irene’s beauty while hardly paying any attention to Elly, a proper consolation for her father’s favoritism, her mother’s pride in her eldest daughter.

  Now that John and Irene were gone from home, Elly got less attention than ever. When she came back from finishing school, she would be a full-fledged proper lady, ready to take on Denver’s social and business worlds. But her outward victories would never compare to the inner victory of stealing Irene’s husband, sleeping in her sister’s own bed with the man she had wanted since she was thirteen years old. She might never own Chad legally, and there would be other men in her life; but Chad Jacobs would always be her first and only real love.

  Chad moved to the edge of the bed and got up to wash. “We’d better get back to where we’re supposed to be,” he told her. “Make sure there aren’t any stains on the sheets, and make the bed so it doesn’t look slept in.” This was the part she hated, the cold, practical side of it. “You sure you’re being careful?” he asked.

  “I learned all about it from my personal servant, Jesse Tibbs. She has five grown children.” Elly put a towel between her legs and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I cried to her one day, told her I didn’t understand about men and babies and that Mother wouldn’t explain such things to me. Jesse said that if a woman waits until just before or just after her period, she can’t get pregnant.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right.” Chad washed and pulled on his underwear and pants. He came back over to where she sat, leaning down and kissing her savagely. He knelt then to relish a last taste of each breast, while Elly smiled. “That will have to tide you over for the next year or two,” he told her. “At least from me. I’m sure you won’t go without while you’re gone.”

  Elly laughed lightly, then sobered as she watched him dress. “Will you write me, Chad? Please do. I promise to destroy the letters.”