“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Just being neighborly. I saw you were all alone here at the station. Thought you might want some company. I didn’t know you had a rendezvous with the handsome Buck. Careful, girl. A charmer like that can sweep a girl right off her feet.”
“Ha-ha,” I said, and began sweeping the platform again, angrily raising a cloud of dust that I hoped would drive her away. She stayed where she was, sitting on the edge of the platform, her stout legs dangling over the edge.
When I finished sweeping, she spoke again. “I suppose Mae Nelson told you she and the Veiled Lady sat down and had a nice cup of tea together and talked all about Buck Wilson’s many virtues.”
“She didn’t know Buck Wilson. But I’m sure we’ll find someone who did.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“I have my reasons. And when we find the person, and she—”
“She?”
“—she tells us what she knows, you will see you are wrong. Silverheels didn’t come to Buckskin Joe to get rich off the miners!”
“That’s the only reason dance-hall girls came, Pearl. Surely even a romantic ninny like you can see that much. I don’t see how you can argue it any other way.”
“I think she came to Park County with her true love.”
“Her broom, you mean?”
“Of course not,” I snapped. I took a deep breath. If I was going to survive this bet with Josie, I was going to have to learn not to let her get under my skin. So she’d seen me dancing with my broom. So what. I had to think back before she’d embarrassed me and recapture the feeling of romance I had felt. I sat down on the edge of the platform a few feet away from Josie and closed my eyes, letting the cool air cleanse the heat from my face.
“After Silverheels fled her cruel father, she went to St. Louis as you said. There she met Buck Wilson.”
“How’d she meet him?” Josie asked.
I thought for a moment. “She would have had to take a job, since she had fled her father’s house with little more than the clothes on her back. And her only skill was her dancing. Buck saw her on stage in her debut performance. She was so beautiful and graceful that he fell madly in love with her at once. Love at first sight.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Josie said. “There’s no such thing as love at first sight.”
“There was for Buck and Gerta. There must have been,” I said, remembering again the well-tended grave.
Josie snorted. “So then what happened?”
“Well, he asked her to dance with him that first night, but she refused. She’d been brought up a lady, after all, and had no chaperone. Night after night Buck came back and asked, until at last one night, after her work was done, he asked and she agreed. And she, too, fell in love as she spun around the floor in his arms.”
“Oh, of course. His strong arms, no doubt, that enfolded her,” Josie said, scorn and sarcasm dripping from her words.
I ignored her and continued. “Buck and Gerta wanted to marry right away, but Buck was a poor boy.”
“An orphan,” Josie said. “Make him an orphan.”
“He was a poor boy who had nothing of his own to offer Silverheels. She had spent all her life in luxury, and Buck could not marry her until he made his fortune.”
“Aw, so she was after money. You admit it.”
“No!” I said quickly. “Silverheels would have married Buck right off, but he insisted he would not have her living in squalor. When word reached St. Louis of gold in Colorado territory, Buck knew that was the answer! Gerta begged him not to go, but he was determined. He packed up all his belongings and set out, promising his beloved Gerta that he would make his fortune and return to marry her and sweep her off to Paris.”
“Which of course, he could do, being a broom,” Josie said. I didn’t laugh.
“How did she get to Colorado?” Josie asked. “Most women didn’t come west in the gold rush with their men. And why was she dancing in dance halls for all those other men if her virtuous heart belonged only to the stalwart Buck Wilson?”
“She couldn’t wait in St. Louis! Imagine, he was away in the wilderness, where anything could happen. She couldn’t bear to sit alone at home, wondering and worrying. So, she found a troop of dancers headed for the territory and she joined them.”
“And how on earth did she expect to find Buck Wilson? After all, there were gold strikes from Denver to Telluride. Buck could have been anywhere.”
“But they shared a bond of love,” I said. “True love. And a bond like that can never be broken. It drew her to him, like steel to a magnet.”
“Humph,” she said. “A very pretty story. And where’s your proof?”
“I don’t have proof for all of it. Not yet. But I saw his grave. Just the other day, someone had fixed it up.”
“That doesn’t prove a thing.”
“It proves that their love endured all,” I insisted.
Josie snorted again. In the dark, it was easy to imagine I was talking to an old donkey. A very stubborn old donkey.
“Your story’s nothing but a load of horse apples,” the old donkey said.
“Well, how would you explain it, then?”
“I’d say that if your sweet ninny Silverheels was that madly in love with Buck Wilson, it was more likely because he was a fast-talking, high-rolling, silver-tongued swindler.”
“That’s not true!” I protested.
“Hush, girl. I let you string your cockamamie yarn; now it’s my turn. I figure Buck Wilson came out west to get rich, same as every other man in the gold rush. They came pouring across the prairie with only one thing on their minds—an easy fortune. The thing was, once they got here, they didn’t find the fortune to be so easily gotten after all. It was a life of hard-working days and cold, lonesome nights, and the gold wasn’t nearly as plentiful as expected.
“The decent family men were quick to figure out the gold rush wasn’t for them. They went back home. The bachelors and the desperately poor, who had nothing to go back to, labored on, scratching out a living. But there was a third group of men, ones who saw opportunity around them and took it. The gamblers, profiteers, and swindlers who could make their living without ever picking up a shovel. I figure Buck Wilson was among their number.”
“Silverheels wouldn’t have loved such a man! An undying love like hers was pure,” I said.
“Maybe,” Josie replied. “Maybe Buck Wilson was the kind of silver-tongued snake who could make women love him and men trust him with a single smile. And I figure he used that smile to break deals and hearts in equal measure. I figure he came to Buckskin Joe in the fall of 1860, in the hopes of swindling miners out of their claims. Of course, while he was at it, he was happy enough to swindle some women out of their virtue. Once a woman’s fallen in love with a handsome man, he’s in the lap of luxury. I’m sure he knew that quite well.”
“And I suppose you think that woman was Silverheels,” I said.
“Among others. I figure he wasn’t the type to let any opportunities pass him by. He probably had every woman in town madly in love with him. Willing to do anything for him.”
I smiled. She had trapped herself in the inconsistencies of her own story. “There were no other women, just the prospectors back then. You said so yourself—women didn’t come west with their men in the gold rush.”
“Women didn’t come west, no. But there were the dance-hall girls. And there were the women already here.”
I looked at her, confused.
“Most of the fur trappers took Indian wives, and they brought them to town when they came. Some had probably been married long enough to have daughters susceptible to Buck’s charms too. And there were Mexican women down along the Arkansas River and in the San Luis valley that made their way up into the mining camps. For a strapping young charmer like Buck, I’m sure it was easy enough to win all their hearts with his smile.
“But Silverheels, now there was a prize he just had to
have, no matter how many women already loved him. Her beauty was legendary. Plus, she was a kindred spirit.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Josie grinned. “She was just like Buck—beautiful, charming, able to win anyone over with her smile. And ambitious for wealth. Yes, I imagine they were drawn to each other right away. Two swindlers with the same game and the same set of weapons. How could Buck resist such a conquest? All those other women pining for him were cast aside the minute he laid eyes on Silverheels. He swore he would have her at any cost.”
“You can’t prove any of that,” I said.
She shrugged and smiled a superior smile, as if to say she could prove it. It made me uneasy. I waited for her to offer her proof, but she didn’t. She just went back to watching the mountaintops in the dark.
Across the street, my mother stepped out onto the porch and called me. I’m sure she wondered what I could be doing that was taking so long, and I wasn’t going to be able to tell her. I sprang to my feet and hurried into the depot to put the broom away.
Back in front of the café, Mother held out her arms to hug me. “I’m sorry, Pearl. I know you wanted to go to Buckskin Joe with the boys. Maybe we could all go up to the Lucky Fork for a few days later in the summer for a family campout. That way we could see your father. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I did miss Father, but I wasn’t getting my hopes up. We couldn’t afford to close the café just to go camping.
Willie and Frank were still where I had left them, planning their outing. Frank got to his feet as soon as I stepped inside. He had been waiting for me.
“I’m sorry you won’t be able to go with us, Pearl,” he said. I just shrugged, wanting to pretend it didn’t matter, but the tender regret in his voice made me want to cry.
“I’ll tell you everything that happens when I get back, I promise. We’re still in this together, you and me. Partners, right?”
I nodded. “Partners.”
Frank gave me a quick flash of his crooked, enthusiastic smile and stepped out into the night. I went straight up to bed, leaving Willie to lock up and turn down the lamps, jobs that were usually mine. After all, I thought, I had nothing to look forward to tomorrow except hard work in the café, so I might as well enjoy a good night’s sleep.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning, Frank was the first person to come into the café, eager as he was to set off on his adventure with Willie. I served them breakfast as cheerfully as I could, but I was relieved when they were gone and I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t disappointed.
Josie came in with a huge stack of campaign handbills under her arm the minute they walked out. She thumped them down on the counter and demanded her usual order of hotcakes. I avoided her as best I could until the hotcakes were ready and I had to deliver them. When I did, she smiled at me like the cat that just ate the canary.
“Well, girl,” she said, “have you seen sense yet? Are you ready to help me deliver these leaflets?”
I glanced down at the stack at her elbow. The one on top blared a new headline I hadn’t seen before:
PRESIDENT WILSON,
IF WE FIGHT FOR LIBERTY OVERSEAS,
WE MUST FIGHT FOR LIBERTY AT HOME!
I looked back up at her, horrified, remembering what George had said. “You can’t say that!”
Josie’s eyes flashed in challenge. “Say what? Liberty?”
“You can’t attack the president—he’s trying to fight a war right now!”
“So you approve of hypocrisy, do you?”
“You’ll get yourself accused of sedition, saying things like that. George Crawford says we have to be careful. We have to be true patriots now.”
Josie cut me off with a louder-than-usual snort. “George Crawford? A word of advice, Pearl. Don’t put too much stock in what a Crawford says.”
“Whatever you think of Mrs. Crawford, it’s not fair to judge George by his mother.”
“I’d wager that George is as silver-tongued a schemer as your beloved Buck Wilson. That’s the thing about men. The better they look, the less they can be trusted—especially by a quiet, well-behaved girl like you.”
“That’s not true. George is a gentleman.”
“George is a handsome young man. And handsome young men take advantage of sweet girls like you, Pearl. That’s the way of the world.”
I gritted my teeth to keep my anger inside, but I could see from Josie’s snide grin she knew she’d gotten the better of me. She picked up the jug of syrup and poured a hearty amount on her hotcakes.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, Pearl,” she said. Several heads turned our direction around the café. I fought down the urge to shush her, knowing it would only look more suspicious, so I had to let her continue.
“I’ve been thinking about those other women in the early days of the gold rush.”
Russell got up from the old-timers’ table and came to the counter stool beside Josie. “You’re not going to be talking to Pearl about Lou Bunch and her kind again, are you, Josie? Because you know she’s just a kid, and it’s not right you telling her that kind of thing.”
“Don’t get your long johns in a knot, old man,” Josie said. “I’m talking about the Indian wives of the trappers and traders in the early days.”
“What about them?” I said. “If they were already married when they came to town, I don’t see that they would have had anything to do with Buck Wilson.”
“Buck Wilson? Are you still trying to figure out who cleaned up his grave? And you think it might be Indians? There haven’t been any Indians around here in forty years,” Russell said.
Josie ignored him and pointed to her cup. I refilled it.
“I was thinking of all those sick miners needing nursing, and those Indian wives who knew the lay of the land and all the healing herbs and plants. Seems more likely it would have been them to nurse those sick miners in the epidemic, not some dancing ninny who only knew how to kick up her heels and bat her eyelashes.”
“There are no Indian women in the story,” I said. “If it had been them nursing the sick, why don’t we have a mountain named after one of them, too?”
“Maybe they just weren’t as pretty as your lovely Silverheels.”
“The mountain wasn’t named for her because of her beauty. It was for her kindness to the sick men.”
“That’s the thing about being a woman,” Josie said. “History doesn’t have much use for you unless you look and act just how men want you to. If you’re beautiful and work yourself to death for them, that’s worth remembering. If you weren’t much to look at to start with, well, feed them supper and be forgotten. When we have the vote, though, we’ll change all that.”
Russell rolled his eyes, drained his coffee cup, and stood. “I’ve got cattle to move today. Try to keep your nose clean, Josie,” he said. He handed me payment for his breakfast and left the café, shaking his head. I looked around. He was the last of the old-timers to leave; the others had trickled out while we talked. It was down to just Josie and me.
I was putting Russell’s money in the cash register when I had an idea. I pawed through the papers underneath the register until I found the list of names I had copied off the graves with Frank. I pulled out the paper and read through the list to check my hunch. Then, feeling victorious, I took my list to where Josie sat eating her hotcakes.
“Look, there were no Indian wives in town in the epidemic,” I said, pointing to the bottom of the list where the 1861 graves appeared. “See? Frank and I wrote down the names of all the people buried in 1861, and they are all men.”
Josie let her eyes slide down the list while she chewed. Her expression didn’t change, but I knew I had her.
“If there had been other women in camp, at least some of them would have died along with the men, right?”
“As I said before, Indian women probably knew the medicines of the forest.”
“But it was the d
ead of winter,” I said.
“Maybe they fled the town when the epidemic hit. Men that had wives probably sent them to Fairplay to keep them safe,” Josie said.
“Then the Indian women wouldn’t have been there to tend the sick. Only Silverheels stayed when she could have gone. So she was the only one left to treat the men.”
“When she could have gone, yes. But I figure some of those Indian wives of the old mountain men didn’t have much choice. The way I see it, men take wives either as trophies or as workhorses.” She stabbed her finger at the list, picking a name at random.
“Take Zachariah Stuart here. He probably traded a grizzly hide and three bottles of Scottish whiskey for a pretty little woman. That’s how they did it in those days. And having paid such a high price for her, he would have wanted to protect her, so he would have sent her to Fairplay at the first hint of sickness. But this fellow”—she gave another jab at the list, landing on Elijah Weldon, 1815–1861—“he won his Indian woman in a card game, already carrying a papoose on her back. She wouldn’t have been worth sending off. Unless she had given him sons. Then he would have sent her and the boys to Fairplay to be safe.”
“Either way, there would have been no one left to tend the sick but Silverheels.”
Josie thought for a moment. “You’re forgetting that papoose that came with Mrs. Weldon. A baby girl, grown now to a child about your age. A sweet, obedient girl just like you, that old”—she glanced down at the name again—“old Eli Weldon wouldn’t have cared one whit about saving. A workhorse that history could easily forget, quiet and polite as she was, and probably as homely as a mud fence. Probably madly in love with the dashing Buck Wilson, like the rest of them.”
I opened my mouth to reply but, glancing up, caught sight of George and his mother across the street, talking to some of the other townswomen. In fact, there seemed to be a number of townswomen out and about. I folded the list of names and slipped it into my apron packet.
“If you will excuse me, I have work to do,” I said.
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