by Ann Parker
Once Mrs. Alexander was out on the street, moving purposefully away, Inez let out her breath, not aware until just then that she’d been holding it.
Abe uncrossed his arms.
“I had nothing to do with that. They just showed up,” Inez said by way of explanation. “If I’d known their true purpose, I’d have closed the door in their faces. They ambushed me with the basket offering and talk of the church,” she finished lamely.
“Uh-huh.” Abe’s noncommittal response only made Inez feel more responsible for the whole scene.
“Mr. Jackson,” Mrs. Buford came up to him, glancing back at Angel, who was now resting in her nest of pillows, fatigue weighing her delicate features. “I brought the makings for chamomile tea with me. I’ll make her a cup, now. Nothing you need worry yourself about.” She patted his worsted-wool jacketed arm. “Now, that Doc Cramer, he did right in sending you to fetch me. He’s fine, as far as all them doctors go, but I always say, no one who hasn’t gone through a birthin’ themselves can be an expert. I’ve had ten myself, all born healthy, bless the Lord, and I’ve delivered hundreds more in my years. Now, this is Mrs. Jackson’s first, and they often come late. That baby’s kickin’ up a fuss, one touch can tell you that. Whether a he or she, you and Mrs. Jackson be holdin’ that baby in your arms by next week’s end.”
With those encouraging words, she turned the pat on the arm into a gentle shove. “There’s nothin’ else you can do here but wait, and menfolk are no good at that, so just go on and get on with your day. I’ll be stayin’ here and I promise to send word to you and Doc when the time comes.”
Abe nodded and addressed Inez. “Time we got back, anyways, right, Mrs. Stannert?” He went to Angel, leaned over, and murmured to her. She looked up, one hand left her belly to clutch his shoulder and draw his face down to hers.
Inez and Mrs. Buford pivoted around as one to observe the dark blue sky of an October afternoon creeping toward evening. A dust devil swirled through the street, pulling bits of paper trash in its wake. Inez caught the flash of a couple of golden aspen leaves in the whirling dervish. A puff of surprisingly untainted mountain air—cold and pure as crystal—tapped Inez’s face, like the gentle touch of an unseen spirit. “Gonna be a long, hard winter,” said Mrs. Buford calmly.
Inez pulled her coat a little tighter around her neck. “Aren’t they all up here?” she responded.
Mrs. Buford’s stern round face relaxed a bit. “That they are, ma’am, that they are.”
***
“So what was all that about no father?” said Abe as he and Inez walked back to the saloon.
Inez wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, it all went south so quickly, I can’t exactly recall.” That, of course, was a blatant lie. She recalled very well indeed. “No matter. Just before they showed up, Doc had tossed out a hoodoo woman.”
Abe raised his eyebrows and tipped back his hat. “A who?”
“A tiny woman, not much taller than Mrs. Gizzi. Are all purveyors of hocus pocus of small stature? She looked to be at least eighty years if a day. Spoke patois,” added Inez. “New Orleans, I’m guessing, from what Doc was saying.”
Abe grunted and tipped his hat forward over his forehead. “Huh. Frisco Flo’s girls brought her ’round? Sounds like Madam Labasilier. Don’t want her ’round Angel. Doc done right.”
Inez blinked. “You don’t believe in that sort of thing, do you?”
“I don’t b’lieve in anything I can’t lay my hands on, but that don’t mean I turn my back neither,” said Abe. “She’s got plenty that do believe, even here. I was born and raised in the Crescent City. I know that, when I meet a snake in the road, I take a wide path around it and take care not to disturb its slumber.” He turned an impenetrable dark gaze back to her. “Guess your return to town kinda got off to a rough start.”
“Yes, well, it’s been interesting so far,” said Inez drily.
“So you and Mark bury the hatchet down there in the Springs?”
Inez tipped her head to one side. “We are on speaking terms. As for the rest, we shall see.”
Abe grunted. “You two aren’t gonna pull a fast one and sell the saloon out from under me are you?”
“What?!” Inez was so shocked she stopped, right in the middle of a wagon rut in the middle of Pine.
Abe kept walking. Inez spurred into action, hurried to catch up, thanking her lucky stars that she wore her wider travel skirts, which allowed her to match Abe’s long strides. “Heavens, no. What would even make you think that?”
“You were both gone a long time. Not a lot of word comin’ up mountain on what was going on down there. Not sure if you were maybe thinking of resettlin’ down there or mebbe even moving on.” Abe kept his eyes straight ahead.
“No! We’re partners, remember? Three. All equal.”
“Yeah, but if you two skedaddle, I can’t afford to buy you both out of your shares.” Abe turned up his jacket collar against a brisk puff of cold and shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, looking grim. “I plan on Angel and me stayin’ put, leastways for a good long while. Just bought that house. I’m not lookin’ to pull up and go elsewhere, much less pick up on wanderin’ ways again.” Abe glanced at her. “So, just wanted to know straight up. Don’t be bluffin’ me, Inez.”
“No, Abe. I swear. Talk to Mark, he’ll tell you the same.”
He switched topics. “That reverend of yours been by while you been gone. I let Bridgette do the talking. Didn’t feel comfortable in saying much beyond my understanding was that you were extendin’ your stay so’s you could spend more time with your boy and sister. Still, he knows, as everyone knows, that Mark was there too. I gotta say, your reverend didn’t look happy.”
“My reverend,” said Inez through clenched teeth. She hated that appellation. “Well, that’s my business and his, so thank you for not offering up any suppositions or notions for consideration.”
“Oh, I figure I’d leave notions and suppositions to Bridgette. As you say, none of my business.” He paused outside the saloon, one hand on the door, forcing Inez to stop as well. “Leastways, not my business unless you and Mark decide to make it my business. We got an understandin’ here, Inez? I don’t care what you do with your private life. One or the other, up to you. But if things go such that you’re ready to move on from the Silver Queen, I’d much appreciate a heads-up.”
“Not likely to happen,” she snapped. “Leadville is as much my home as it is yours…and more than it’s been Mark’s, given all that’s happened in the past year.”
Abe nodded, then pushed the door open. “After you, Mrs. Stannert. Welcome home.”
Chapter Eight
Concern about her maman’s disappearance had fueled Antonia’s never-subtle newspaper-selling style with additional obstinacy and aggression. Her heavy armload of papers had lightened considerably and her coin pocket had increased in weight as she pestered, badgered, and cajoled passersby on Harrison, Chestnut, and up and down State to read the latest offerings from The Independent. Twice more, she slipped into French Row to see if maman had returned. Occasionally, posh ladies from the nicer parts of town—West Fourth Street, Capitol Hill—would arrange for her maman to come to their homes. None of the hoity-toities wanted to risk their reputations or their silk and merino finery by setting foot on State, much less by wandering through French Row. But maman always told her of such visits ahead of time, or left a note.
This time, there was no note, no hint that she’d been summoned. It was as if she’d simply disappeared.
Down to her last four papers, Antonia decided to call it quits. The hour was edging into evening, and the lamplighters were beginning their chore of lighting the gas streetlamps on Harrison. Antonia hurried back to the shanty, promising herself that if maman wasn’t there, she would wait all night if necessary. She’d invent some story later for Mr. Jackson, if he bothered to her ask why “
Tony” hadn’t showed up to empty the spittoons that night.
The one window in the shanty showed a wan flickering light behind the purple net drape. Heartened, Tony grabbed the latch and set her shoulders to pull the reluctant door open. She staggered backwards when someone pushed on the door with equal force from inside. Catching the jamb for balance, Tony barely stopped herself from falling prat-first into the refuse that had accumulated by the front of the shack. A tall, elegantly black-clad woman, black-edged linen handkerchief pressed to her nose, paused in the act of exiting, eyeing Tony. Tony stared at her—a lady, most certainly, Tony thought—as dumbstruck as if a circus elephant had appeared trumpeting through the crooked passageways of this, the most desperate part of town.
“I thought Drina said she had a daughter,” the lady said in an uncertain, muffled tone from behind the handkerchief. “She never mentioned a son.” Her eyes examined Tony’s sweaty, dust-streaked face dispassionately with what Tony thought was a tinge of disappointment. The lady untangled the black veil wound up on her hat, pulled the opaque netting down, and adjusted it. Faceless, the lady now looked like some dark wraith, a poisonous spirit from beyond, come to wreak havoc on the living. Tony suppressed a shudder. Without another word, the lady in black turned and hurried away, disappearing into the lengthening shadows of French Row.
Tony rushed inside, clutching the handful of pennies and the prized quarter that Mr. Stannert had given her. She came up short at the sight of her maman, elbows braced on the table, hands clutched at the back of her neck, chin trembling, gazing at a slim pile of gold coins glinting in the candlelight on the table before her.
“Maman?” Tony felt her elation and pride ebb away, the coins in her pocket and the determined effort she had expended to put them there shrinking in significance compared to the lustrous treasure between her mother’s propped up arms.
Maman looked up, stricken. “I shouldn’t have said what I saw. But, she paid, she said I was to tell the truth, that it was a way to test me. To test whether what I said was true.”
Tony crept forward, hugging the few crumpled newspapers to her. “Was it the lady in black? How much did she give you?”
“A hundred dollars,” her mother said, voice rising. “But it was wrong, wrong. There are things that should not be said.”
Tony shushed her, alarmed. “Someone outside might hear you.” She glanced nervously at the thin plank walls. A hundred dollars! A fortune!
“We can buy train tickets to Denver,” said Tony suddenly. “We can leave!”
Her mother swept the coins off the table into her hand. Tony heard the muted clink of metal trapped in her fist. “We wait,” said her mother, in a harsher tone than Tony had ever heard her use. “Tomorrow, we leave here and go back to the hotel.”
Tony stepped back, startled, confused. “But, Maman—”
“That way, Mr. Brown can find us.” Drina rose, secured the coins in the knot of her waist sash, and fussed with it, positioning the knot to one side so it was hidden under her shawl. “He is on his way here.” She spoke forcefully, with a certainty that stopped all argument.
Tony blinked. “You know this, how? Did he write to you?”
In the candlelight, her mother’s eyes gleamed. “It matters not how I know. I know. As surely as I breathe and stand before you. You will meet him, at last, he will embrace you and take care of both of us. This money will help us all! Mr. Brown, he understands that sometimes, a misstep is necessary so that it can lead to better times. My mistake, it was a mistake to say so much, yes, but it will be our fortune. And Mr. Brown, he will come soon. Tomorrow. Maybe even tonight, he will step off the train and be here.”
Tony’s breath came out in a whoosh. “Well, I won’t be!” She was shocked at the words that flew out of her, words she flung at her mother with the force of a curse. “I won’t be here to meet Mr. Brown! I don’t want him to take care of us! We don’t need the bastard!”
Drina’s palm slammed across her daughter’s mouth, stunning Tony into silence. “How dare you!” Drina’s voice, already wound tight, pitched higher. “You are my daughter! You do as I say. And I say we will be together, like a family. I should not have let you cut your hair, put on trousers like a boy, fight in the streets over pennies. Over pennies! I should have forbid it!”
“My pennies helped. I helped!” cried Tony, the pain in her heart worse than the pain in her face from her mother’s blow. “You, me, we made enough to eat. Enough for coal for the stove. I was saving to buy a carpet for our…home.” Even as she said it, the dream now sounded ridiculous to her ears. How could she have hoped to save enough for a carpet such as those she saw in the window of Owen & Chittenden on Harrison with the pennies and the occasional nickel she managed to set aside? She was as bad as those women who came to hear their fortunes told, hoping for things that would never happen, never come to pass. She was as blind as they were, scrabbling through their wretched lives, hoping for something better.
“Antonia.” Her mother tried to hug her. “He will save us from this hell. You don’t want to stay here, you talk about leaving all the time. You want to leave? We will, with Mr. Brown.”
Tony ripped herself away from her mother’s embrace. “I’d rather stay here by myself than go with you and Mr. Brown!” With that, she fled, tearing open the door, not bothering to shut it behind her, not daring to look back, running, zigzagging around the hovels, running toward State Street, the crowded boardwalks, disappearing, one boy among many weaving through the anonymous crowds of men, heading toward the warm seductive glitter of the Silver Queen Saloon and the work and pennies that awaited her there.
Chapter Nine
Inez walked into a very different scene in the saloon from the one she’d left about two hours ago. It was Friday evening, and the town was stepping up to meet for the weekend.
Most of the travelers arriving by stage, train, and carriage were in, and most of those had had time to check into their hotels, residences, and boardinghouses and were beginning to wander the town in search of entertainment and excitement. Many of those who worked in and called Leadville home, at least temporarily, had received their envelopes of pay for the week’s labor and were looking to unwind on their ways home. Housewives waited anxiously or expectantly for those envelopes to appear, so that tabs at the butchers, grocers, druggists, dry goods, and mercantiles could be at least partially paid. Some workers headed straight home, but many lingered on their way out of the mines, mills, smelters, banks, railroad yard, and offices. Barkers and steerers worked the wooden walks on State, looking to persuade those drifting by to lighten the weight in their pockets, pay envelopes, and wallets in one or another of the entertainment halls, music venues, or saloons—large, small, mean, or elegant.
Entering the Silver Queen after dark on the weekend was to step into another world. The sharp temperature of a late October evening vanished, vanquished by the steamy warmth of the packed room. A shifting sea of men stood shoulder to shoulder and three-deep the length of the mahogany bar. Every chair at every table was claimed, while customers unable to gain seats stood clustered around their mates, staking their spot at the table with a shot glass, beer mug, or glass bottle. The cacophony of voices—bass, baritone, and tenor—were a welcome symphony to Inez’s ears. She breathed deep, reveling in the visual and audio chaos, the pungent tinge of unwashed male bodies and alcohol a welcoming embrace.
It was then she realized how her time in the Springs had flattened all her senses. Conversation there had been controlled, men’s voices muted and nearly overwhelmed by the overlying soprano and alto tones of the women. The scent of perfumes and toilet water wafted over each carefully prepared meal and recital. All movements were slow and deliberate. Nothing was brash, exuberant, or overdone. Ever. Whether taking the waters, strolling one of the many manicured “walking paths,” or seated at dinner, everyone presented carefully erected façades.
Any visible
display of a possibly strong emotion roiling beneath the surface was confined to the lift of an eyebrow, the small, barely visible smile or frown, a discreet nod or shake of the head, a deliberate turn of the head, the coded flip and twist of the fan, or the intentioned inclination of a glove. At times, Inez had felt she was suffocating, in body and spirit.
Here, on a weekend at the Silver Queen, it was a different story. The noise, the smell, the sheer energy threatened to shake and shout down the walls of the two-story building.
“Guess we’d better get hoppin’,” said Abe.
“Has business been this good while we’ve been gone?” Inez followed Abe behind the bar.
“You could say that.” He pulled a clean apron from a hook, offered it to Inez, grabbed one for himself and snapped on a pair of sleeve garters. Abe nodded to Mark at the other end. Mark gave them both a casual salute before turning his attention back to filling a line of shot glasses. Each eager drinker slammed four bits on the polished wood surface before grabbing a filled glass. Mark pocketed the silver with one hand as he continued pouring with the other.
Inez removed her travel cloak, now wilted and streaked with its long day’s journey, and donned the apron, wrapping the cloth strings twice around her waist. “I don’t know why I bother with the apron,” she said as she followed Abe to the middle of the bar. “This outfit needs a good airing and brushing.” She wished she had time to change, freshen up, but it was clear that wouldn’t happen for a while. She removed her hat, set it on a high shelf on the backbar, and pinned a straggling dark lock back behind her ear.
Mark approached them both, greeting Abe with “Mr. Jackson, any news on the home front?” He stashed the empty Kessler Whiskey bottle in one of the tin tubs below bar before plucking a full one from the shelf behind.
“No change,” said Abe.
Mark raised his eyebrows at that, but only said, “Well, a full moon’s a-comin’. Situation’s bound to change.” He glanced around the room. “Speaking of changing, think y’all can handle the crowd, until Sol shows? He left to take my trunks down the street and return the wagon. Back soon, I reckon. When he comes, I’ll need to check the card room and get ready for the evening game. I kept back a suit for tonight.” This last was directed at Inez. “Hope you don’t mind me doing a quick change upstairs, darlin’.”
