by Ann Parker
She leaned forward. “Mark, we are still his parents. In name and law. They will be appointed his legal custodial guardians. They will come to the Springs regularly. You will be able to see William, be a part of his life, and so will I.”
She stopped speaking and watched as Mark paged through the papers, picking them up one by one and reading them with the same care that her lawyer had taken. “These New York physicians,” he finally said, “they make a persuasive case for him staying in the East for health reasons.” Mark looked up. “So, Inez. Do you believe this in William’s best interests?”
“I don’t just believe it, I know it.” She spoke fiercely, from the depth of her heart. “This is absolutely, without a doubt, the best for our son.”
Mark let the paper in his hand drift to the table and join the rest. He put his elbows on his knees, viewed the blizzard of assurances, of evidence, of proof that their son would be protected and raised in a web of family care and love that neither he nor Inez could provide. Finally, he straightened up, his face drawn, defeat mixed with determination. “What must I do to make this happen?”
***
The gathering for her Saturday evening poker game was, in a word, subdued. Her usual circle seemed to have forgotten how to carry on a casual conversation. Most of the stilted talk revolved around the unsettled weather and the upcoming election, which promised to be entertaining with Evan prognosticating a landslide by Democratic candidates. Things finally loosened up when Doc arrived, late, his cane thumping out his approach down the hall. He came in, looking a little stunned, and said, “Have you heard about Dr. Gregorvich?” The game stopped right there as he treated everyone to a wild tale of the physician being found shot, most brutally, in the cemetery. “His body was found on the grave of a child!” Doc said.
“Who found him?” queried Cooper, looking from his new cards to his discards with a frown, as if he now wished he hadn’t thrown them away.
“Elliston did. And there’s rumor of more to come. Some unsavory doings.” Doc harrumphed, uncomfortable. “I am sorry to say we welcomed the good doctor into the medical fraternity here at Leadville without any doubts or misgivings. Now, we are sorry we did.”
Then Elliston burst in, all triumphant, and told the story again but with more adjectival embellishment. He stayed coy on the details of what was found in the physician’s office, merely saying, “You’ll have to read The Independent for that!”
The energy in the room picked up, and everyone seemed to be more relaxed and having a good time. When Inez sensed the night was winding down and Doc proclaimed it a long day, his cue for leaving, she said, “A moment if you please, gentlemen.”
She walked to the door, shut it, and said, “I have a favor to ask of each of you, but I will not take it amiss if you decline.”
Not a one of them did.
That is how it came to be that on Monday, November 1, 1880, Inez stood beside her lawyer William Casey, Esq., in county court, before County Judge A. K. Updegraf to have her suit for divorce heard and decided upon. The judge cast a sharp look about the room, said, “Mr. Stannert? Not here?”
That was clear.
“Was he served a copy of the summons?”
Upon receiving the legal proof that indeed, Mr. Stannert had, the judge nodded, pulled out his docket, picked up his pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and said, “Note that defendant, Marcus Stannert, being duly summoned has failed to appear at the appointed hour.”
“Now then,” the judge said looking up at Inez’s circle of Saturday night players, “Mr. Casey, I understand you have a few witnesses in this matter.” One by one, each man took the witness stand, and was sworn to tell the truth. Evan the merchant, Cooper the lawyer, Elliston the newspaper publisher, Doctor Cramer—all well-regarded men in the community. Each averred Mark Stannert had, to their best knowledge, been absent from Leadville and his wife’s side from May 1879 to July 1880, a length of time falling well within the bounds of the definition of “abandonment.” The judge nodded, again and again, and Inez thought she noted a slight impatience to this gesture, a “get on with it” air. Although she could have been wrong. The judge, she knew from hearsay, was an excellent poker player, so it was hard to tell exactly what he might be thinking.
After the last witness had testified, Casey motioned for the court’s attention. “Your honor, I have a settlement proposal that sets forth how the parties have agreed to divide their marital assets. If I may approach the bench?”
Casey stepped forward and presented the terms of agreement he had hammered out with Inez. The judge spent a good long while looking through the document, written out in Casey’s neat legible hand, while Inez felt her insides twist into an undissolvable knot. He asked a few questions, to which Casey quickly and clearly responded. The judge nodded and made more notes in the docket. Inez tried not to fidget.
Then, Casey said, “To the matter of the child…” and presented the signed and notarized affidavit from Mark allowing Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan DuChamps to act as William Stannert’s legal custodial guardian. Inez thought she saw the judge frown, just a little. Casey followed up with the papers Inez had collected—all the carefully gathered assurances and promises, signed, sealed, delivered on letterhead, in yellow telegraphic missives, and in fulsome medical forms. The judge’s eyebrows went up a little as he read through them, taking his time. Doc stepped forward to add his own medical opinion, in concurrence with the rest. Inez gave in to the urge to fidget, twisting the string of her reticule around and around one finger, nearly cutting off the circulation.
The entire process seemed to take an eternity, and at the same time, to happen in an instant. The judge carefully restacked the papers, laced his fingers on the bench and looked her straight in the eyes. Inez held her breath. It was then she detected, well-controlled and barely noticeable, a touch of sympathy. “Mrs. Stannert, you have proven to the satisfaction of the court the allegations in your complaint in this action. As I look around the courtroom, I notice that Mr. Marcus Stannert has still not made an appearance, and from what I’ve heard here today, he does not intend to make an appearance in this matter. Therefore Mr. Stannert is declared in default in this matter and your bill of complaint is deemed uncontested.”
The judge then addressed those assembled, saying, “It is hereby ordered, adjudged, and decreed by this court that the marriage between Inez Underwood Stannert, plaintiff, and Marcus Charles Stannert, defendant, is dissolved accordingly and that Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan DuChamps be deemed the legal custodial guardian of the minor child, William Stannert.”
He paused for the space of a heartbeat. “The parties, one and each of them, is freed and absolutely released from the bonds of matrimony and all the obligations thereof.” He made a record of his words on his docket, then brought down the gavel, saying, “Court is adjourned to meet again tomorrow, Tuesday, November second, at ten o’clock in the morning.”
Inez released her breath in a long sigh.
The judge stood and everyone relaxed. Casey turned toward Inez and said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Stannert. Will it still be Mrs. Stannert, then?”
“For now,” she said weakly, feeling like her knees might give way.
The judge came down from the bench, and to Inez’s utter amazement approached her, and smiled. “My legal prescription is to treat yourself to a glass of sherry, Mrs. Stannert, and to move on from there. I wish you well with your future, wherever it may lead.”
Chapter Forty-four
Inez agreed to Casey’s suggestion to partake of the sherry in his office. He raised his glass and said, “To you, Mrs. Stannert. You played against the odds and won what could have turned into a difficult and ugly case.”
She raised her glass in return. “It would not have been without you in my corner. Thank you, Mr. Casey.” They drank.
She rose to go and he escorted her to the door, saying, “If I may add…?”
> Turning to him, she caught his smile. “If you decide to ever divorce again, please, pick a different lawyer.”
“Once is more than enough,” she assured him.
She returned to the saloon and looked around. Monday, and it was fairly quiet. Abe looked up, question plain on his face. She went up to the bar. “It’s done.”
He nodded, brown eyes lingering on hers, and offered her a shot glass with the best whisky they had behind the bar. “I’m thinkin’ you might need this.”
“I’m thinking I might.” She drank and sighed. “I need to go upstairs.”
“Might want to avoid the gaming room. I put Mark where I could keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t bolt for the door at the last minute and run pell-mell to the courthouse.”
“Somehow, I suspect Josephine would have been there, barring the door, if he tried.”
Inez was intending to head straight to her chambers to change, and thence back to Mrs. Alexander’s, where she knew she was welcome to stay as long as she wished.
But she couldn’t just pass by the gaming room, its door ajar, the scent of Mark’s cigar curling out into the hallway. She gave the the door a little push. Mark sat in the twilight, smoking, a glass and bottle by the ashtray. She leaned against the doorframe. “It’s over now. The judge went along with everything.”
He nodded.
“Are you drinking to forget the past?” She meant it lightly, but was afraid it came out sounding awkward and mean. She moved to stand inside the door.
“Not possible.” He poured himself another shot, pulled over an extra glass, filled it and held it out to Inez. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but he added, “However, I fully expect Josephine will find a way to knock me senseless, drag any memories she deems not useful out into the light, and take to them with a rugbeater.” She heard it then: the faintest hint of that Southern drawl.
Inez took the proffered shot glass, with no need to hide the smile easing the knot inside her stomach.
The old Mark was still there, inside, busy licking his wounds for now.
He’d be all right.
***
After changing into a more comfortable outfit, something for walking and breathing, Inez stopped in the saloon office for her last task of the day.
But before that, she pulled out the cabinet card photograph showing her son William sitting on the lap of her sister Harmony, now his legal guardian. She noticed the little things in the crisp image, how his eyes, which Inez had always thought of as mirrors as her own, also looked like Harmony’s. How his chin echoed the Underwood determination which had stamped both Inez’s and Harmony’s faces. How his chubby hand curled trusting and relaxed on Harmony’s wrist. Inez touched the small nose in the photograph and spoke to the paper image. “We did this for you, William. Because your father and I love you, want the best for you. Where you are, the people you are with—that is your home and family now. You are where you should be.” She stopped speaking, because the longing was just too great to put into words. She set the photograph aside to pack for later.
Inez turned to the safe. She wanted to have the ticket money for the Lads available and handy, in case they came looking and she wasn’t there. Her first thought was simply to leave the cash envelope with their names scrawled across it in the safe, and let Mark and Abe know it was all there. She pulled out the sleeve, dislodging Percy’s thin envelope, which fell at her feet.
A sign?
Inez picked it up, tapped it thoughtfully against the palm of her hand, and then reached for the letter opener on the desk. She slit the sealed envelope open, pulled out the single sheet of folded paper, unfolded it, and read…
***
The next morning, Inez lingered at Mrs. Alexander’s, preparing telegrams to send back East and farther West. Tony was at Susan’s studio again, helping Susan set up the sittings. “I like it,” Tony had said. “It’s fun.”
Mrs. Alexander spent the morning sewing in the kitchen, and explained her busy fingers to Inez. “It is a shroud,” she’d said somberly. “I have my sewing talents to help me, for now. Later, I will return to home in France. Once I have settled things here.” Inez had promptly given her the address and name of William Casey, Esq., for help with legal matters.
As she drafted her messages and made her plans, she waited, with half an ear, for the arrival of a visitor or two or three, or maybe four. She wasn’t disappointed. The doorbell gave its metallic ring as someone twisted the knob on the door. “I believe it is for me,” she told Françoise. “If you don’t mind, I will take it in the parlor.”
Sure enough, it was Epperley. And as she surmised, he’d come alone. He stepped into the entry, and looked around, suspicious and dour as always, his blond mustache at perfect horizontal, echoing the narrow line of his mouth. “I went to the Silver Queen and they said you were here.”
“They were correct.” She turned to go up the stairs, throwing over her shoulder, “You’re here for the ticket money, I gather. So Percy or his lookalike is on his way home?”
Epperley’s step was loud behind her, and very close. “We’re all at sixes and sevens,” he muttered. “No choice, really. Can’t send Percy home without the top of his head or its contents. Even if he was always the empty-headed fool.” Inez winced. Epperley’s snarl was harsher than usual.
“Tipton is the worst,” he continued. “Absolutely, positively insists we give the family all the bloody details. The family doesn’t want all the bloody details. It’s a rum do all around. I told them I couldn’t wait any longer. I have to get back to the Springs and the hotel. It’ll be run into the ground if I don’t.”
“Hmmmm. Your hotel is a monster of a mistress, isn’t it?” she said, leading him into the tiny parlor where she’d been working.
“I’ll make a go of it yet. I’m determined.” Epperley sat without being invited and crossed one boot over his knee. “Oh, say, you have Percy’s other things, right?”
“Other things? Oh! His lucky rabbit’s foot?”
“No, dash it. Hang the rabbit’s foot.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, eyes narrow. “The envelope.”
“Envelope?” she echoed innocently. “I don’t recall an envelope. The past two weeks have been such a muddle. But I have everything here, so, if it he gave it to me with his money, it’s most likely in the cash envelope.” She lifted papers, pushing them around as if searching, making a further mess.
He exploded. “Well, then, bloody well find it!”
She continued, ““Maybe it’s in his clothes or in his hotel room?”
“It wasn’t in the hotel room or his clothes because I—” He stopped.
His hand clenched into a fist, as if he wanted to grab back his words and strangle them.
Inez gave him her full attention, noting his anger, his awful dawning realization of what he had just said, or almost said.
“You know it isn’t in the hotel or on his clothes, because you looked,” she said quietly. “At the start of all this, on Friday, Drina read Percy’s fortune. Later, you and Percy revisited her shack, probably to threaten her, demand the money back because Percy thought she had conned him with a story of untold riches to be had in the mining district. You didn’t find her, but you did find Tony’s handgun and you took it. Then Saturday night late, while the rest of the Lads were enjoying a toot at the Grand Central Theater, you and Percy returned to the shack, and you argued. About the money he promised you. The money he agreed to give you, no strings attached, from his inheritance, good friend that he was. You couldn’t stand to see him spending it all and having a good time, am I right? So you shot him. With Tony Gizzi’s fancy handgun. And you looked for the envelope so you’d have proof of his generous gift, when you couldn’t find it in his pockets, you ran away, and left him—your friend—dying.”
Epperley said nothing. She sensed something coil up i
nside him, preparing to strike. Her hand went to her empty reticule on the table and pushed it aside, revealing her pocket pistol beneath. She touched the grip, not doing any more, and said, “Don’t.”
He finally muttered, “I didn’t kill him.”
“Ah, but the intent was there.” She bore down, relentless. “And what would have happened if, instead of drawing the attention of Dr. Gregorvich, it had been someone like Doc Cramer who had stumbled upon Percy? Doc would’ve done his best to save him, stop the bleeding. What a mess you’d have been in then, hmm?”
His eyes slid away from hers.
“So,” she prodded, “what are you going to do about this, Epperley?”
“Where’s the envelope?” He sounded glum now, but determined. “He wanted me to have the money, he said so. I admit it, I lost my blasted temper. It was a row that got out of hand.”
“A row. That got out of hand. And poor Percy pays the price.” Inez shook her head. “It seems your temper gets the best of you at the worst times. Hold it in check, now, because I need to tell you I’m afraid the envelope and its contents got out of hand as well and sailed right into the…” she let her gaze meander to the parlor stove. The stove popped a merry reply.
Epperley actually gaped. “You burned it?”
She crossed her arms, revolver in one hand. “I guess I lost my blasted temper. So, again, what are you going to do to make this right?”
“Do? What do you mean, do?” He stood. “Turn myself into what passes for the law here in Leadville? That’ll be the day. Nobody cares what happened to Percy but his mates. The physician killed him, that’s what everyone says. If Percy hadn’t pushed me, changed his mind, none of this would’ve happened. And now, ‘Percy’ is heading home. What a charade!” He sneered. “You can’t prove anything, in any case. What I will do is go back to the Springs, to my hotel, and raise the money elsewhere so I can save my business.”
