Searching for Silverheels

by Jeannie Mobley

  After the lunch rush, I changed into my Sunday best and we set off on the train to Fairplay. As soon as we arrived, Willie gave us a wave and headed for the drugstore—and the only soda fountain in Park County. Hardly the chaperone Mother had sent him to be, but I was glad to be rid of him.

  The stationmaster in Fairplay knew where Mrs. Nelson lived and Frank and I were soon standing in front of her little clapboard house. It was tiny, but neat as a pin, painted bright yellow and surrounded by a picket fence. Geraniums bloomed in pots on either side of the front steps, cheerfully welcoming us.

  Still, Frank and I approached the door a little nervously. I clutched the small raisin cake with both hands as Frank knocked.

  The woman who answered the door was not the old woman I had expected. She was no older than my own mother.

  “Mrs. Nelson?” I asked.

  “Yes?” She was drying her hands on her apron as if she’d just come from the kitchen. I hoped she would have time to talk to us.

  “I’m Perline Barnell, from Como,” I said.

  “Maggie Barnell’s girl?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And this is my friend Frank.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Nelson,” Frank said with a stiff little bow, very formal and gentlemanly.

  I held out the cake and continued politely. “Frank is visiting from Denver and he’s curious about Buckskin Joe. We were wondering if we might ask you a few questions about when you lived up there.”

  Frank smiled. His smile went a little higher on his right cheek than his left, making his dimples lopsided. It wasn’t dazzling like George’s smile. It was the kind of smile that put a person at ease. Mrs. Nelson smiled back.

  “Well, of course I would. I’d be happy to. Too few youngsters care to hear about the old days now.”

  She took the cake and held the door wide for us. We stepped inside the tiny house and she waved us to the right, into a sunny alcove just big enough for a stiff-backed bench and two horsehair chairs.

  Frank took charge of the conversation as soon as we sat down.

  “How long did you live in Buckskin Joe, Mrs. Nelson?”

  “Well, I was born there,” she said. “By then there weren’t many folks left, so we kids went down to Como to school.” She paused and smiled at me. “I went to school with your ma. We moved down to Fairplay when I started high school. That was the fall of ’92, just before the big silver crash. And of course, that was pretty much the end of Buckskin Joe.”

  “So you grew up there? And you heard all the stories of Silverheels?” Frank asked.

  “Everyone in Park County knows the story of Silverheels,” she said. “But I think I saw Silverheels two times in the cemetery there.”

  “Really?”

  “Are you sure?” Frank and I spoke at the same time, but it was okay. I could tell by the twinkle in her eye that it was just the reaction Mrs. Nelson had wanted.

  “That’s right,” she said. “The first time I was about your age, I suppose. There were rumors, you know. Everyone said the ghost of Silverheels haunted the cemetery there. So, my sister, Marjorie, my brother, Charles, and I decided we would stay overnight in the cemetery to see her. It was a dare, really. The older kids thought we’d be too scared.

  “And of course we were. Marjorie, she was the youngest and mother’s little pet, she ran home as soon as it got dark, but not Charles and me. We stayed, but we didn’t sleep. It was round about midnight, I think, when we saw her.”

  “What did she look like?” Frank asked.

  “She was straight and tall, very lean. She was dressed all in black, just like they say in the stories, with a heavy veil over her face.”

  “What was she doing?” I asked.

  “She was walking among the graves when we saw her, but Charles shouted and she fled, and Charles and me were so scared we froze up, so she got away.” She laughed at the memory, but a shiver went up my spine.

  “You think she was a ghost then?” Frank asked.

  “I did at the time,” she admitted, “but I don’t think so now. Because I saw her again, some years later, shortly after I married. My father and uncle are buried there in the cemetery, so I took my mother up every year in the spring to tend the graves.”

  “Do you still do that?” Frank asked. I’m sure he was thinking of what we had seen the day before—I know I was.

  Mrs. Nelson shook her head. “Momma moved to Denver about four years ago and I haven’t been up there since.”

  “So when exactly did you see her the second time?” Frank asked.

  “Oh, it would be maybe fifteen years ago, maybe a little more. Momma and I had made a day of it, tending the graves and then having a picnic a few miles farther down Buckskin Creek, in the big meadow there. It was getting on toward evening when Momma realized she had left her new gloves back in the cemetery. I went back by myself to fetch them. I was looking for the gloves, so I was walking along, my eyes on the ground, when I heard a sound. I looked up and there she was, no more than twenty feet from me.”

  “So you got a good look at her that time?” Frank asked.

  “Certainly. It was toward dusk, but not dark yet. She was dressed all in black, as before, and wore a broad hat with a black veil. I couldn’t see much of her face, but our eyes met for a moment. There was something about those eyes . . .” She paused and shook her head. “Then once again, she fled. I called out to her to wait, but she kept right on going.”

  “Did you chase her that time?” I asked.

  Mrs. Nelson shook her head. “Momma was waiting for me, and we had to get off the rough part of the roads before it got too dark. But I did see what she had been doing. She had been there for the same reason as us. She had cleaned off a grave and left a neat bouquet of flowers.”

  “Which grave?” I asked, goose bumps already rising in anticipation of the answer.

  Mrs. Nelson smiled. “Buck Wilson’s. That’s how I knew it was Silverheels. She was sweet on him, you know.”

  “So why did you think she wasn’t a ghost?” Frank asked.

  “I suppose by then I was a little too old to believe in ghosts. Besides, she seemed perfectly solid. I figure she’d been alive and living in these mountains all along.”

  “Do you think she’s still alive now?” I asked.

  Mrs. Nelson shrugged. “Who’s to say? No one knows her name or just what she looks like. I’m not the only one who ever saw her in the cemetery, but no one’s ever caught her or gotten a good look at her face.”

  “But you saw her eyes. What were they like?”

  Mrs. Nelson got a faraway look and shook her head again. “I can’t rightly put it into words. Sadness, regret. And something more, too.” She sighed and looked tired all of a sudden, so I changed the subject.

  “What about Buck Wilson? What do you know about him?” I asked.

  “Nothing, really,” she said. “He must have been a dashing fellow to have won the heart of the beautiful Silverheels, though. So sad to think of a young love, dying so tragically like that.”

  “Is there anyone else around that might remember him?” Frank asked. “Anyone who still goes up to the graveyard at Buckskin Joe?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Mrs. Nelson said. “Old Tom Lee had folks up there, but he’s moved down to Denver. Can’t think of anyone else, except that Veiled Lady who loved Buck Wilson.” She paused and cocked her head in thought, smiling. “You know, I’m glad I never caught her. It’s more romantic for being so mysterious, don’t you think?”

  I nodded. It was sad but very romantic to think Silverheels was still visiting his grave all those years later, and all the mystery made it a finer story. Even so, if I could find her, it was just what I needed to prove that Josie Gilbert was wrong. And that would be sweeter still.

  CHAPTER 9

  George Crawford was sitting on the steps of the mercantile when we arrived back in Como, and as we crossed from the platform to the café, he came to meet us. He was frowning as he approached, and I thought I saw
a jealous glint in his eye when he glanced at Frank. My heart beat a little faster.

  “Good afternoon, George,” I said. I thought about batting my eyelashes like Imogene always did with Willie, but I didn’t want to flirt with George in front of Frank. Besides, I wasn’t any good at it.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute, Pearl?” George asked.

  “Sure.”

  He turned and started back across the street toward the mercantile, so I excused myself from Frank and Willie’s company and followed. Once we were out of earshot of Willie and Frank, George spoke.

  “Pearl, what’s going on between you and Josie Gilbert?”

  My stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

  “You know I saw you with her in the café yesterday morning, and then you were coming out of her house. And folks say you were whispering with her at the café this morning.”

  “I wasn’t whispering.” I thought fast, searching my mind for a reasonable excuse for talking to her so much. I settled on something that wasn’t exactly a lie, though not exactly the truth, either. “I’m trying to convince her to stop campaigning in the café, that’s all,” I said.

  I was afraid I would look too guilty to believe, but George looked relieved. “Good. Because I like you, Pearl, and I’ve been worried about you.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “With the war on, folks have to be a lot more careful about what they say, and how they say it. We’ve got to support the boys over there. Josie’s one of those who criticizes the president, our commander in chief. It’s our duty to stand behind him, for the sake of victory.”

  I nodded. I wanted to reply, but I didn’t know exactly what to say, and even if I did, I couldn’t trust my voice now that my hand was enfolded in his.

  “You will be careful, won’t you? Be a true patriot?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” He smiled just a little, crinkles forming at the corners of his green eyes, bringing out their sparkle. “Then will you go to the Fourth of July picnic with me?”

  “Oh! Yes! Thank you, George!” He gave me a true smile then, dazzling me. For a moment, I feared I might collapse, my knees went so weak. I, Perline Rose Barnell, was going to the Fourth of July picnic with the most handsome boy in Park County!

  George brushed his hand gently along my cheek. “Good. See you later, Pearl,” he said, and with a wink, he departed.

  Willie and Frank were sitting at a table right inside the door when I floated back into the café a moment later.

  “What did George want?” Willie asked.

  “He asked me to go to the Fourth of July picnic with him.”

  “You? With George Crawford?” Willie said. “I hope you said no.”

  “Why?”

  “Honestly, Pearl. You know what the Crawfords are like.”

  “I know what his mother is like, but I’m not going to the picnic with his mother. I’m going with George!” I insisted.

  “If you’re going with George, I promise you, you’re going with his mother,” Willie said.

  “Just forget it,” I said, and I brushed past their table and into the kitchen to help Mother.

  By the time I came back out to the front, the old-timers had started to gather. They were eager to hear what Mae Nelson had told us. Of course I had work to do, but I kept an ear on their conversation as best I could as I served the handful of other customers or wiped up tables.

  “I believe Mrs. Nelson did see someone up there,” Frank said after he’d recounted all we had learned. “For one thing, it matches what we saw. Someone cleans up the grave of Buck Wilson in the spring. A woman in a black veil, apparently.”

  “Must be Silverheels, then,” Orv said.

  “Unless Buck Wilson had other family around, right?” Frank said. “I mean, Mrs. Nelson was up there because she’s got family buried there. Maybe Buck Wilson had a sister or niece or someone like that too. Does anybody know anything about him?”

  “He was just another bachelor gold seeker,” Harry said. “They were all the same—when they weren’t digging up gold they were spending it on whiskey and women. The miners were a greedy, dirty lot.”

  I felt my hackles going up. How could Silverheels have loved a man like that? Like Mrs. Nelson had said, it had to have been a powerful love for her to still pine at his grave so long after.

  “Surely they weren’t all so bad,” I said. “Some of them might have been decent fellows just trying to make enough money to marry their sweethearts.”

  “I can’t really recall many miners that fit that description,” said Harry.

  “Well, my father is working a mine right now, and he’s not like that!” I said.

  “Of course we didn’t mean your pa, honey,” Harry said quickly. “I was talking about the fifty-niners.”

  “If someone was to go up to the cemetery to watch, like Mae did as a little girl, I bet you could catch old Silverheels sneaking around. Find out for yourselves,” Orv said.

  “Say, there’s a fine idea,” Willie said, grinning at Frank and me. “We could spend the night in the cemetery.”

  “But do you think she’d show up? She’s already tended the grave. Maybe she just comes once each spring,” Frank said.

  “You won’t know until you try,” said Orv.

  “Unless you’re too chicken to spend the night in a graveyard,” Willie said, his eyes daring Frank to do it.

  Frank smiled up at me. “I’ll go if you two will go with me.”

  “Pearl can’t go,” Willie said. “Mother will need her here in the café. Besides, she’d just run off at the first crack of a twig, like Mrs. Nelson’s little sister did.”

  “I would not! And Mother might let me go, if I could be back in time for lunch,” I said.

  Willie called to my mother, asking for permission to take Frank camping the next day.

  Mother appeared in the doorway. “What about Frank’s companions? Aren’t they due back in Como tomorrow?”

  “We aren’t planning to leave for Denver till the day after. We’ll be back by then,” Frank said.

  Mother considered. “You will have to do your morning chores before you go, Willie, and chop enough wood to keep my cook stove working till you get back.”

  “I will,” Willie promised.

  “Can I go too? If I’m back before lunch?” I asked.

  Mother’s brow knitted. “I don’t think I can spare you, Pearl. Not with your father and Willie away.”

  “That’s not fair. Why can’t Willie stay and I go?” After all, I was the one who needed to find Silverheels, though I couldn’t tell my mother why.

  “Pearl, you know you can’t spend the night up there alone with a young man! We’ll go on a family outing later in the summer.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “See? I told you,” Willie said. Then he and Frank put their heads together and started planning.

  I turned my back on Willie and went to fill cups at the other two tables still occupied by diners. Everyone said women were the weaker sex, but once again I’d be hard at work while the boys would be off having fun.

  CHAPTER 10

  At last, the only folks left in the café were the old-timers, Frank, and Willie lingering over their coffee and pie. Mother had tidied the kitchen and gone to join them, which meant that I could quit too. So as soon as the plates were all dried and put away, I left through the kitchen door and went to sweep the train station, as I had promised.

  Mr. Orenbach was just closing out his books for the day when I entered. He locked his cash register for the night, handed me the broom, and after I assured him I didn’t mind, he crossed the street to join in the coffee and conversation at the café. I was alone in the station and glad for the peace and quiet. Living and working every day in the café as I did, peace and quiet were rare.

  I began sweeping and thinking about Silverheels and Buck Wilson, and what their love must have been to have endured so long, even after his death. A love like that must have been extraordinary, and was
surely enough to have brought Silverheels to Colorado. Josie was wrong; women hadn’t just come to the camps to get rich. At least not women with true loves like Buck Wilson.

  In my mind, I could see them, the beautiful young Silverheels and her lively young gentleman. He was tall and charming, but not in a trim, neat way like George Crawford. Buck had been a prospector, risking hard and dangerous work every day to make his fortune so he could marry his sweetheart. A man like that would have been handsome, but a little rugged, too, his hair always needing a trim and his shirt collar and fingernails a little dirty. Despite all that, though, he’d have gentlemanly manners, a kind heart, and a friendly smile. Not dazzling, but the kind of smile that put a person at ease.

  By the time I’d worked out Buck Wilson’s details, I’d swept the whole waiting area and ticket booth in the depot. I had a good-size dust pile, but I couldn’t find the dustpan, so I picked out the ticket stubs and cigarette butts and threw them away. Then I opened the door out onto the platform and I swept the dirt out and off the platform edge, onto the ground.

  The moon was nearly full and the stars were glittering as the cool evening air settled down on us from the mountain tops. It was a glorious evening to be outside in the moonlight. I smiled to my broom and curtsied.

  “May you have this dance? Why of course, Mr. Wilson,” I said. I held the broom in front of me with one hand and gathered up my skirt with the other. Then I swirled around as if I was waltzing across a grand ballroom.

  I was brought up short by a disgusted snort from the other end of the platform. I hadn’t seen Josie sitting there alone in the dark, waiting for me to make a fool of myself, but I had obliged her all the same. Blood rushed to my face, as it so often did when Josie showed up.

  “Well, I see you’ve met old Buck Wilson at last. Doesn’t look like he’s all that loyal to Silverheels if he’s sneaking away to dance with you under the stars.”