The Gold Miner's Wife: A Young Woman's Story of Romance, Passion and Murder

by Creek, Amethyst

  Susannah was surprised when he unexpectedly pulled her closer, into a fond embrace, and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Her full breasts were pinned firmly against his broad chest now. Susannah knew this was highly improper, but it was also oddly comforting to her as she missed being held safely in someone’s arms. The feeling was only momentary, and she did not read too much into it. Edward was leaving after all. She pulled away and he felt the loss of it. He wanted her, badly, but knew he must continue his deception and be patient. Opportunities to woo her would present themselves in time, but for now he kept his eye on the prize.

  “I hope we will be reunited again soon, Susannah,” he said softly. “And under happier circumstances. What I really wish is for you to return to England where you have so many people who care about you. I believe you could come home for a little while at least. Your Mr. Hoyt would be a trusted advisor to manage your financial affairs in your absence. England is your real home. All that glitters is not gold, Susannah.”

  He had no doubt that his pretty little farewell speech had given her something to contemplate. With her husband dead, what compelling reasons might she have to remain in Denver permanently? He would persuade her otherwise, would lure her home again by hook or by crook. He would play the attentive protector, until he had her completely in his power. In the fullness of time, he would make her his wife and would gain control of her fortune. Then he would have her luscious body pinned beneath him, would hear her panting, she would cry out his name and beg him for more. As he allowed his mind to dwell on these fantasies, the more demented he became.

  Charlotte swept into the parlor in a rush, pulling on her gloves. It was time to go. “I am heartily sorry to leave you Susannah, with all that has happened. I hope in time you will recover and that your broken heart will mend. I promise to write regularly,” she said kindly with a warm embrace.

  “You have been a faithful friend. I will write as well. Thank you both, for everything. Have a safe journey,” said Susannah as she bid them farewell.

  Later that day, with Edward and Charlotte and their servants now departed, Susannah found the spacious mansion to be inordinately quiet. She missed her friends already. It was important to keep herself busy, to feel useful in some way, or else she would become gloomy and introspective or surely lose her mind. She sought the company of Catori and Mrs. Sheppard and found them in the kitchen. Mrs. Sheppard always clucked over her and Catori gave fresh insight to any conversation. Susannah and her household staff were like a close little family and she valued their amiable companionship. They raised her spirits. In the cozy kitchen, the world was a pleasant place indeed.

  When Susannah entered the room, she observed Mrs. Sheppard preparing some unknown concoction at the table that involved dried daisies, while near the window Catori busied herself packing items into a large basket. They were chuckling over their recollections of Charlotte’s personal maid, Miss Prescott, who had given them all fits by constantly misplacing her spectacles.

  “She was a funny one, without a doubt,” said Catori. “I hunted around several times to help her find them. On one occasion she discovered that they were in her pocket all along.”

  “That Mr. Brophy was a strange one. We didn’t see much of him,” said Mrs. Sheppard.

  “Who was Mr. Brophy, again?” asked Susannah.

  Mrs. Sheppard looked up from the work table. “Mr. Mansfield’s personal bodyguard, but he was not here very long,” she stated. “May I fix you some tea or lemonade?” she asked.

  “You are busy. I will do it,” said Susannah as she reached for the lemon press. “What was strange about him?”

  “Mr. Brophy kept to his room after everyone was settled. We were told he was under the weather. Mrs. Sheppard sent up a tray. But on the second morning after his arrival he left bright and early, even before the sun was completely up. He returned a week later, but was gone again for good later that very day,” said Catori.

  “Do you suppose he had relatives nearby, or found another position?” Mrs. Sheppard wondered, looking puzzled. “

  “I do not know,” Catori answered. “But he seemed to have a hardness to him. I observed him kicking Fluffy Lucero.”

  “I don’t like to hear that!” exclaimed Susannah.

  “Why would Edward Mansfield have that type of person in his employ?” Catori wondered.

  Susannah found the new information about Mr. Brophy kicking the cat very troubling. Had she assessed Edward Mansfield’s character incorrectly? But she said to her friends, “His comings and goings do sound peculiar. I remember Edward introducing Mr. Brophy at the train station, but he never mentioned him again. With all that happened, I had forgotten about him. Perhaps we will never know. What are you making there?” she then asked Mrs. Sheppard, wanting to change the subject.

  “Oh you know, for the ongoing problem I have. I believe this tonic does help relieve my night sweats the way nothing else does,” Mrs. Sheppard answered. The recipe had been passed down to Mrs. Sheppard by her mother and she found it to be quite reliable. She had gathered the blossoms of white daisies and dried them. The petals were ground into a fine powder. A teacup was then filled one half full of the powder mixture and boiling water poured over it. After the liquid had cooled, it was drained with the liquid set away to drink on going to bed. The recipe yielded about one gill, just the right dose.

  “I must make a mental note of your recipe for future reference,” Susannah said, smiling.

  “My dear,” said Mrs. Sheppard, “It shall be many years before you will need to take such drastic measures! Perhaps by then, let us hope something else will come available at the apothecary shop.”

  “You are right of course,” admitted Susannah. “Hot summer days can be downright unpleasant to begin with, so I am glad you have settled upon a solution that provides some relief.” Susannah turned her attention to Catori. “How is our basket coming?” she asked, walking toward her.

  “I believe we have everything that was on the list. The bolts of fabric you selected were wrapped separately by the storekeeper. We bought twenty yards altogether in several colors. The cost was twenty five cents per yard. Mrs. Schultz should be able to make quite a few garments.”

  “Thank you for all you did to organize that,” Susannah said appreciatively.

  “The Biscochitos you baked earlier this morning will be a nice treat as well,” beamed Mrs. Sheppard.

  “You baked Biscochitos? I thought I smelled that spicy fragrance,” said Susannah.

  “Yes, this morning,” answered Catori “while the day was still cool.”

  “Everyone likes those cookies,” said Susannah. She had never heard of Biscochitos until she came to Colorado. The cookies were flavored with anise and brandy and the recipe had been introduced by the early Spaniards.

  “I saved you some! I had the storekeeper wrap up some lemon gumdrops and peppermint barber pole candy for the little boy,” Catori added.

  “You have thought of everything,” said Susannah. “I know Mrs. Schultz will be pleasantly surprised. We are ready then for Mr. Simmons when he comes by to collect us in the morning. He promised to be here at ten o’clock.”

  Susannah anticipated the scheduled meeting with Mrs. Schultz with nervous apprehension. How could she convey her sympathy and express her sincere condolences when she knew no German and, it appeared, Mrs. Schultz knew almost no English? It was Jack who relieved her anxiety. He had limited German and would try to be of some help. They would get along, he insisted. It had, in fact, been Mrs. Schultz’s own husband who had helped him acquire some vocabulary. The next morning arrived soon enough.

  The buggy ride to Mrs. Schultz’s white-washed wood frame house on the outskirts of town took about a half hour. Situated on a gravel lane, it was a narrow little house, more like a bungalow and stood in a row of other little wooden houses just like it. The front yard looked tidy and was enclosed with a low wooden fence, where a few chickens freely roamed about, pecking and scratching. Colorful zin
nias were in bloom near the front porch. The back yard was narrow, but the parcel of land was deep. It was similarly enclosed to contain a lone milking cow. There was also a small wooden shed, evidently a shelter for the cow, along with a few apple trees and a tiny vegetable garden. During the months when the gold mine was in full operation, Heinz Schultz had lived at the mining camp and slept in the bunkhouse. He would return home at intervals when he could. In the cold winter months, he lived here with his wife and little boy, Otto, and earned money doing odd jobs. The Schultz’s were solvent financially and had even managed to put by a small sum.

  Mrs. Schultz had heard the buggy pull up and was at the door to greet them. Like Susannah, she wore an unadorned black cotton day dress, but also had on an apron. Her thick blonde hair was braided, the coils pinned like a crown atop her head. Susannah guessed her age to be no more than thirty.

  Jack helped the ladies down from the buggy and took charge of the large basket. Catori and Susannah carried the parcels containing the bolts of fabric. Mrs. Schultz appeared a bit nervous, but clearly recognized Jack, and eagerly welcomed the three of them inside.

  “Guten morgen, good morning Mrs. Schultz,” Jack greeted her.

  “Guten morgen, willkoomen,” she replied. “Bitte setzen, sit,” she said as she motioned to the wooden chairs in the front room.

  Susannah stepped forward and extended her hand in greeting. “Mrs. Schultz,” she said.

  “This is Mrs. Sprague,” said Jack.

  “Susannah,” she corrected him. “My name is Susannah,” she said without formality.

  “Susannah,” Mrs. Schultz repeated. She knew without being told that this was Mr. Sprague’s widow, that their men died together, that they shared in common this terrible heartbreak.

  “And this is Catori,” Jack added.

  “Catori,” Mrs. Schultz repeated, shaking her hand.

  “My name, Gerta,” she said pointing to herself.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gerta,” the ladies replied. With introductions out of the way, and the group now seated, Susannah observed her surroundings. The room was small and neat, the wooden floor, swept. They sat at a large round table in the center of the room. It was covered with an embroidered lace tablecloth with an oil lamp in the center. There was a carved wooden chest under the window and the room had a fireplace with a clock above the mantle, along with two silver candlesticks. Also displayed on the mantle was a photograph of Gerta and Heinz on their wedding day. The plaster walls were painted white and on one was hung a small oil painting, evidently a pastoral scene from some familiar place in Germany. A bookcase held an assortment of books with German words on the spines. Somehow Susannah felt the books were among Gerta’s most treasured possessions. She was relieved to see that Gerta’s situation was not as hopeless as she had originally feared. She was literate, her house was adequate, and her milking cow would provide a small income.

  “For you,” Jack said, handing Gerta the basket. “From Susannah,” he added, gesturing.

  Her eyes went wide. “Danke, danke,” she said. Catori and Susannah placed the bundles containing the fabric on the table. Gerta called to little Otto who had been peering shyly from behind the door to the bedroom.

  “Otto, come,” said Gerta. He ran to her side. “Mein Sohn,” she beamed. Otto is vier,” she added, holding up four fingers. Otto had a cherubic face, with rosy red cheeks and curly brown hair.

  “How do you do Otto,” said Susannah. “I am Susannah, this is Catori, and you know Mr. Simmons.” He gave everyone a bashful smile, which quickly transformed into an expression of utter delight when Catori reached into her pocket to produce a small wooden top and gave it to him. “Danke!” he exclaimed as he immediately knelt on the floor to play with his new treasure. Otto knew exactly what one was supposed to do with a wooden top, but he was a little clumsy at his first few tries as it wobbled unsteadily. Jack got down with him and together they practiced until they had the top dancing across the wooden floor.

  Gerta removed the items that had been carefully packed in the basket, including strawberry jam, coffee, sugar, oatmeal, tea, rice, molasses, even a block of soap. She was clearly surprised and pleased and expressed her gratitude to her new friends by hugging them. The parcels containing fabric were opened next. There were yards of material in many colors – Otto would have new shirts. When she came out of mourning, Gerta would have a few new day dresses. She was overwhelmed, her eyes welled up. “Danke,” she said quietly.

  Jack did not want Mrs. Schultz to become overset with emotion as a result of their visit, so he asked her if any help was needed at the moment around the house.

  “Meine Kuh wird lose,” she replied.

  “Kuh?” repeated Jack, looking puzzled.

  “Kuh,” said Gerta again, not knowing the word cow. She quickly offered everyone her best ‘moo’ sound which immediately cleared up the mystery.

  “Your cow gets out?” said Jack.

  “Ja, Das Tor braucht – the gate,” she said. “The gate, neues Scharnier.”

  “A new Scharnier?” repeated Jack.

  “Ja, Scharnier,” said Gerta, and she left the room momentarily to fetch the object. Evidently the cow was escaping because the hinge on the gate was broken. Jack immediately figured out what was needed. Gerta had a new hinge but was not strong enough to lift the gate nor could she install the hinge at the same time. The task required two people.

  Everyone went outside. Jack dispensed with his jacket, loosened some buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves to reveal brawny, powerful arms. His neck was thick and his chest, lightly furred. The gate was heavy, but he lifted it up with little effort and held it in place, as his muscles bunched along his upper arms and shoulders. The ladies used a screwdriver to install the new hinge. His back was broad and strong, leading down to a narrow waist and buttocks outlined by his tight leggings. Perspiration caused his shirt to cling to his muscled form. From his exertion brown hair had fallen across his sweaty brow. Jack was manly and virile, powerful. He was also kind and considerate, gallant, thoughtful and Susannah found herself staring. He had cared about what happened to a prostitute who had been mistreated. He had solved what had been a serious worry for Gerta. The loss of her cow would have meant the loss of her income. With the new hinge in place, the cow could no longer escape. How a man with so many fine qualities had remained single was incongruous to her. Jack had always been a friend, first to Thomas, and now to her. And she thanked Providence for that and for him.

  It had been a good day, Susannah felt a sense of accomplishment and had made a new friend. Despite their inability to understand each other’s words, the two young widows understood a great deal about each other.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daniel Cookson sat behind the desk in his office on Colfax Avenue and absently smoothed his thin moustache, lost in thought. The comprehensive notes he had taken were arrayed in front of him, neatly grouped into categories: suspects, opportunities, motives. He had also drawn a rough diagram of the layout of the mining camp. Cookson had spent two weeks at the Five Nuggets Mine, interviewing the employees and piecing together events leading up to the explosion. He was endeavoring to narrow the possibilities before him, and as with any investigation, the devil was in the details. It was important not to overlook the minutia. One small item, one piece of information, was frequently all that was needed to solve a mystery. He stood and walked to the open window that overlooked Colfax Avenue as he lit another cigarette. The weather had turned a bit cooler, the air coming through the window felt refreshing. It was now into September, and the snow could fly at any time.

  Was it an ambush or was it an accident? Mines were inherently dangerous places. Again last week an incident at a mine in Divide was reported in the newspaper. The men had put in a blast with one holding the tamping bar and the other striking, when the powder exploded, knocking both men senseless. Their faces were burned, along with their buckskin gloves. The men were lucky not to have been blinded. If
one did not get hit by loose rock or a falling support beam, or take a misstep and fall down a shaft, there were other deadly threats. One might succumb to the black damp, or choke damp, which reduced the available oxygen content to render the air incapable of sustaining life. Perhaps it was a murder designed to look like an accident. Which man did the murderer want dead, and why?

  Cookson had first needed to convince himself that what had happened was no accident. A visit to the scene of the explosion along with a tour of the operation and lengthy interviews with the three managers, Marroney, Jones and Trentham, convinced him that the size of the powerful blast far exceeded what was necessary to get at the surface ore. The blast had been deliberate.

  Heinz Schultz was an experienced miner and a careful worker. He had an unblemished record and was not prone to accidents. The best theory offered was that Schultz was drilling a hole obliquely into the designated place in the rock that afternoon when the drill entered an unexploded charge of which he was ignorant. The charge had been put there by someone else. The trouble was, no one had been authorized to place a charge in the area where Schultz was working. Further, someone closely familiar with the schedule knew when and where Schultz would be drilling that afternoon and that Sprague would be working nearby. When the charge exploded, Schultz was killed instantly and Thomas, in the next chamber, was killed by falling rubble.

  Cookson had done a little investigating into Mr. Schultz’s background and found nothing to indicate he had any mortal enemies. An immigrant from Germany, he worked hard and was a family man. Schultz was trying to make a go of it in his adopted country. He appeared to be solvent financially and was not prone to gambling. Thomas Sprague had a fine reputation as an honest businessman and a person of integrity. The bulk of his worldly possessions had been left to his wife, with a small portion to his mother. He also had no enemies. There was no other person who might gain financially from his demise. Of necessity, Susannah Sprague briefly came under Cookson’s microscope but he quickly deemed her to be above suspicion. By all accounts she was wildly in love with her husband and was also an independently wealthy woman in her own right without Thomas’s fortune.