Josh had been up all night with the mules, dragging the sledge up and down the mountain to keep the road clear. Despite his best efforts, the snow was still a foot deep. However, it was passable, and that was critical since Becky was in her sixth month – a good sign since she’d lost the last two in the first trimester. This one was a fighter. If he was a boy, they’d call him Tiffin, after his great-uncle. If a girl, Alice, after Grandma Conlan, or maybe Katy after Dad’s long-lost sister. All family names, at any rate. That was important in this family.
He was glad he’d taken advantage of the delay in herding the sheep to Abiquiu to close in the addition. The shingles were on the roof and the caulking had been put around the windows. Now that it was done, he was beginning to understand why his father had insisted the house be built of stone, and with a steeply pitched roof the way the Swedes built down in Los Ojos and Brazos. Draped in its thick quilt of midwinter white, with little more than the chimney, the front door, and the eastern wall showing, it seemed a natural part of the elements, as if it had sprung full-grown from the ridge.
Assuring himself that Becky had everything she needed, and that the shortwave radio was in working order, Josh struck off down the road in his snowshoes. The Committee would just have to swallow their pride – and the shepherds the expense – to ship the flocks by rail. There was no other solution.
Because the snow had been wind-blown, there were drifts twenty feet high in some places, and in others, gullies where the snow was no more than six or seven inches deep. Already these had become wilderness thoroughfares for the ridge’s wildlife. Deer, elk, and rabbit tracks criss-crossed one another in profusion. A bear, apparently startled to action by winter’s sudden descent, had lumbered by, some time in the last one or two hours, in search of a place to lay his head ‘til spring. More than once, Josh had encountered bears in the woods, and while he had never found them aggressive, the meetings were never comfortable. His hand went automatically to the cold comfort of the pistol by his side. Short of a hit between the eyes, it might not offer much stopping power against an angry bear, but it made prodigious noise and smoke, which had discouraged a mountain lion and two bears, to his sure knowledge.
Strange thing, that pistol. Dad would never say where it came from, only that he’d found it in the woods back in the day when he and Amadeo were cutting ties. A legend was whispered in the family that it had belonged to Billy the Kid, but the initials ‘H.A.’ carved lightly into the ivory stock made a lie of that. As he walked, his feet crunching loudly in the new-fallen snow, Josh took the gun from its holster and studied the carving. “Who the heck was H.A.?” he wondered aloud. Come to that, he thought, who the heck was Thomas Conllan? There was so much about his past that the old man just wouldn’t talk about. Never had. Even to Soledad. It was as if the days before he arrived in Chama were too painful to remember.
Colorado Springs, Colorado
May 3rd, 1880
Contrary to Thomas’ expectations, James Orchard was not a hard man to find. At least, not the way he and Sadie went about it.
By the time they reached Colorado Springs, departing from the main body of the wagon train at Bent’s Old Fort, Roland’s tales about the grand enticements of the Antlers hotel had germinated in Thomas the idea that he had to see the place for himself. He and the families who had chosen to come north with him deposited their livestock and wagons at a corral on the outskirts of town.
“Where can I find a first-class brougham . . . with white horses?” he asked the station master.
Sadie shook her head. “Trouble is, you see, we’ve got more money’n we knows wot to do wif, an’ ‘e’s lookin’ fer a way to put us in the poor ‘ouse.’
The station master looked at Sadie and saw at once that, despite her efforts to conceal it and despite the whip coiled at her side, she was a female. He’d seen all kinds in his years as station master. The plains bred a certain kind of woman, and he’d learned it was best not to antagonize them.
He felt that an especially appropriate policy was needed with this particular individual. “Well, if it’s the poor house you’re lookin’ for, the quickest way there is Larch Carson’s rig.”
“How much will it cost?” said Sadie.
“I don’t care how much it costs,” said Thomas. “We’ve been draggin’ an’ sloggin’ an’ crawlin’ an’ scratchin’ all the way ‘cross this country. We’re gonna go half a mile in style.”
Sadie shrugged.
“How much?” said Thomas.
“Depends where you wanna go, don’t it?”
“To the Antlers Hotel.”
The station master raised an eyebrow, and finding that not sufficient to convey his incredulity, sent the other up to join it. “The Antlers? Do you . . . have you ever been there?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Just wonderin’,” said the station master. “That’ll run you two dollars or more, dependin’ on Larch’s mood.”
“We ain’t getting’ a room!” said Thomas. “Just the ride up.”
“That’s what it’ll cost ya.”
“Two dollars! Jus’ fer a ride?”
The station master tucked his thumbs behind his suspenders and nodded, thinking he’d like to see the society page of the newspaper tomorrow if these two showed up at the Antlers tonight, looking like they did.
Thomas lost his bluster. “Which way is it?”
“Down Cuchares Street to the third intersection, that’s Chrissy and Fowler Lumber Comp’ny. Turn right, the two blocks to the Home Hotel, then left and straight on about a mile and a half.”
“Wot’s it look like?” Sadie wanted to know.
“Oh, you’ll know it when you see it. It’s the biggest building in the west.”
Fifteen minutes later Thomas and Sadie arrived outside the gates of the Antlers, where Sadie was perfectly happy to stay. But Thomas was determined to get a glimpse of how the other half lived, and he could. This was America.
“We’re goin’ in,” he said.
A rotund man in uniform stood by the gate. He was jovial, at least to the well-dressed individuals who arrived in gleaming ebony coaches, to whom he tipped his hat, calling them by name and exchanging brief pleasantries as they passed.
Thomas took a step toward the gate. “Careful ‘e ain’t got a gun,” said Sadie, falling in beside him.
As they approached, the man turned to them but, contrary to their expectations, his beneficent smile never faltered, even for an instant. “Hello, folks. You look like you’re right off the trail. Must be fagged, ‘ey? Here, let me take your coat.” So saying, he slipped off the coat Thomas had been wearing – when the weather dictated – since Pennsylvania. Without editorial comment, he reached into his pocket and produced a straw hand broom and proceeded to distribute most of Kansas and Missouri about the vicinity. “Won’t be seein’ much more of this,” he said, as the dust settled. “What with the train and all.”
“Ours was the last wagon train,” said Thomas, watching the operation with amazement.
“Was it? Yes. Yes, I believe I heard that. Must’ve been in the paper. End of an era. Always a sad thing. Why, you’re part of history!” He handed the coat back, and Thomas put it on. He felt almost grand.
“May I, miss?” said the man, reaching for Sadie’s coat.
Abandoning any hope she had of being taken for a boy, she submitted to the great man’s unexpected ministrations, allowing him to brush her coat and hat.
“I don’t wish to be indelicate,” he said when he had finished, “but perhaps you would like to take this behind the gatehouse,” he proffered the hand broom, “and have a go at your trousers.”
Without a word, Sadie followed the suggestion and soon the surrounding rhododendrons were coated with a thin film of dust. When she emerged, though Thomas could see little discernible change, the gatekeeper greeted her by doffing his hat and making a sweeping bow. “Ah, m’lady. Welcome to the Antlers!”
“Wot, me? A lady?”
<
br /> “Of course,” said the man with a warm smile. “I could see it the moment I laid eyes on you. ‘Horace’ I says to myself. ‘Horace’, that young woman’s a real lady.”
Sadie tugged at her apparel. “In these?”
“Oh, tut, miss. You can drape fine clothes on a scarecrow and it won’t make them a lady, will it?” He leaned conspiratorially close, (“And mind I’ve seen a lot of them scarecrows comin’ through these gates). Nah. I’ll tell you, it takes a real lady to make trail clothes look good. And do it with dignity, if you don’t mind my sayin’.”
Sadie blushed ten ways to Sunday and didn’t know where to direct her eyes, or what to say. Thomas came up and put an arm around her waist. “You know what, Horace, you’re absolutely right. Allow me to present Miss Sadie Conllan, with two ‘l’s.”
Horace, not otherwise occupied at the moment, entered heartily into the spirit of the moment, and once more, bowed deeply. “Honored, miss, I’m sure. And again, welcome to the Antlers.” He swept his hat in the direction of the drive, and as they passed by, whispered, “mind your wallets, folks.”
Class discrimination, the Conllans soon learned, was evidently difficult to maintain at the Antlers for the simple reason that there were no distinctive insignia by which society might be divided.
The Antlers was everything Thomas’ imagination could accommodate, and more. From the pillared veranda strewn with white whicker chairs in which patrons lounged in genial conversation, to the marble lobby where the Conllan’s apparent poverty was reflected a hundred times by ceiling-high mirrors, to the magnificent dining room – an epiphany in etched silver, cut glass, carved mahogany, and gently folded white linen framed with extravagant draperies of velvet and gold.
Sadie released a descriptive epithet as they stood there, taking it all in. “Sorry,” she said. “That one got out.”
“May I help you?”
The Conllans were startled when the nearby statue came to life. This precipitated a string of descriptive epithets for which Sadie didn’t apologize. “Wot you done that for?” she scolded.
The maître d’ , for that’s who it was, attempted to make amends. “I’m so sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to . . . I was simply wondering if you’d like me to direct you to a table.”
“What I’d like, thanks to you, is to change me knickers,” she leaned toward Thomas and added, “(if I ‘ad any). Where’s the powder room, then?”
“Across the lobby, miss. By the chandelier.”
Sadie clutched the hem of Thomas’ coat between her thumb and forefinger. “Don’t you go nowheres,” she commanded. She pulled him to her, and for a brief second, he thought she was going to kiss him. “What’s a chandelier?” she whispered. He shrugged, she released him and set off across the vast expanse of marble.
“Your first time at the Antlers, sir?” the maitre d’ inquired.
“Aye.”
“From?”
“Pardon?”
“Where are you from, sir?”
“Oh, Irelan’.”
“A long way from home.”
“Aye.”
“There are lots of Irish hereabouts,” the maitre d’ continued. “Most work for the railroad in some capacity. You came on the train?”
“No. We come in a wagon.”
“A wagon! Really. Well, that’s a credit to you when you might have taken the train. You’ve got pioneer spirit.”
“Here,” said Thomas, lowering his voice, “what’s it cost to eat ‘ere?”
“Ah, the menu items vary greatly. Are you, forgive me asking, but are you flush or between fortunes, as they say?”
“You got to have somethin’ on both sides to be between, I reckon,” said Thomas. “Since I ain’t never had a fortune, I guess you’d have to say I was . . . ”
“Anticipating one,” said the maitre d’. “In which case, I might recommend the Salisbury steak. It comes with potatoes and a vegetable of your choice.”
Thomas hated to ask. “How much?”
“A dollar fifty cents.”
Thomas winced.
“The portions are most generous, though, sir. Rather than waste food, might I suggest you and the lady share a meal? We’ll be happy to provide extra plates.”
Thomas looked at the man in disbelief. “Tell me somethin’.”
“Sir?”
“Why’re you all so nice to us?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“That’s what I mean, this ‘yes sir, no sir’. The gatekeeper all but walked us up the drive by hand. An’ now you’re helpin’ us find ways not to spend our money. We ain’t rich. We don’t ‘ave fine clothes. We ain’t anything but what we are.”
The maitre d’ smiled. “May I be honest?”
“As you like.”
“I’d like to be able to say it’s just common human decency,” said the maitre ‘d. “And, to be sure, there’s a good bit of that in it, for it costs nothing to be pleasant, does it?”
This was a revolutionary phrase to Thomas, and he liked it. “No, it don’t.”
“But the fact is, the west is such these days that anyone who passes through those doors – whatever their condition today – might be a millionaire tomorrow. Simple economics. If you get your million tomorrow and return to the Antlers, will you be more kindly disposed toward a fellow who treated you well when you were down, or one who was surly?
“At the same time, you can’t trust to appearances. The most slovenly character this side of the Pecos may be a prospector just returned from his private mine with pockets stuffed with gold dust. Conversely, the elegant woman you meet in the salon could be no more than a woman of easy virtue plying her trade. Or the man who appears every part the gentleman may be a confidence trickster with I.O.U.s in a string of states. You simply never know. So you treat all the same. That’s democracy.”
Thomas laughed. “Ain’t America grand! Salisbury steak it is!”
At that moment, a stream of men issued from the men’s salon, some flustered, some indignant, some amused, and were followed by Sadie, pulling up her pants and tightening her belt.
“Wot was all you blokes doin’ in the lydy’s power room, then?” she said with a chuckle. “I know, I know. Fifty-fifty chance, an’ I got it wrong. I don’t see wot they’re all so upset about.” She raised her voice. “Nuffin’ I ain’t seen afore!
“Pardon me, miss.”
Sadie hadn’t cleared the bathroom altogether. Thomas had seen the good-looking gentleman who now spoke come out after she had. He was a good deal shorter than Thomas, about five foot five, or thereabouts, with dark hair streaked with gray, combed straight back from his forehead. He was beginning to show a tendency to paunch that often afflicts successful men in their mid-thirties, was well dressed, and had a decided twinkle in his eye. Sadie turned to confront him.
“Me?”
“I believe you left this in the . . . ah, in the other room.” He handed her her whip.
Sadie slapped her side. “Cor’, I lef’ it ‘angin’ on the door, din’t I?”
“Seems so.”
As if seamlessly slipping into an old, familiar outfit, Sadie was suddenly coy and flirtatious. She tied the whip to her belt. “Well ta, luv.”
The man bowed from the waist. “Pleased to be of service.” He extended his hand to Thomas. “The name’s James Orchard, Mr. . . . ?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Jimmy Orchard!” said Sadie. “You’ve got to be bleedin’ jokin’!”
Orchard was completely taken aback. “Do I . . . know you, miss?” he said tentatively.
“Jimmy bleedin’ Orchard, Tommy. ‘ow many’ve them do you s’pose there is floatin’ around?”
Thomas shoved Sadie behind and stepped forward. “Is your name really James Orchard?”
“Well, yes. Yes, it is.”
“Been Jimmy Orchard as long as I’ve know him,” the maitre ‘d volunteered.
“Nobody’d believe it,” said Thomas, shaking his head and Orcha
rd’s hand at the same time. “Do you have a brother named Roland?”
If Orchard had been taken aback before, he was flabbergasted now. “How could you possibly know . . . ”
“Because we spent about a monf wiv’ ‘im on the canals in Pennsylvania ‘afore ‘e . . . well, afore ‘e died.”
Orchard’s legs gave way. Reacting upon a common impulse, Thomas and the maitre d’ grabbed him and guided him to a nearby chair.
“That wan’t ‘andled well, were it?” Sadie chastised herself.
The maitre d’ summoned a passing waiter and ordered a large brandy over which, in the course of the next fifteen minutes, Thomas and Sadie alternately acquainted him with the last chapter in his brother’s life.
“And now you say she, Patrice . . . she’s marrying this Gerrard fellow?”
“An’ she couldn’t’na done better!” Sadie endorsed. “‘e’s a proper gen’l’man wot’s got money, an’ loves ‘er, and loves li’l M.A. like ‘is own.”
They gave him half a snifter to absorb the news, which he did in silence. At last, he raised his head and looked at them. “I can’t believe this. And you said Roland wrote me?”
“That’s what he said,” said Thomas.
“I’ve been moving around a good bit but still, it should have caught up with me somewhere along the way. I always leave a forwarding address.” His eyes lit up suddenly. “No, wait! If the letter followed me to Hillsboro, it might have burned in the fire. The hotel where I was staying burned down one night when I was out in the country . . . on business.” He nodded to himself. “That must be it.” All at once he started from his chair. “I should go see her! And Matthew . . . I should go see them at once. I have to make sure they’re provided for.”
Sadie shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about ‘em on that score. Still, might not be a bad idea to look in on ‘em like. They’s fambly, after all. Write first, though.”
“Of course I will. Thank you, miss . . . Miss ?”
“Conllan,” said Sadie. “With two ‘l’s, neiver of ‘em bleedin’.” She laughed at the joke that only she got, and loosed a choice Anglo-Saxonism or two in appreciation. “Never mind. I suffer fer me art.”
Silence the Dead Page 29
