by Ann Parker
“It will not end well for you,” she said.
“Do your worst, Mrs. Stannert!” he snarled and banged out the door and down the stairs, cashless.
“Oh, I won’t need to, you’ll do it to yourself,” she said into empty air. With a sigh, she set her Smoot back on the table.
Mrs. Alexander came to the parlor. Inez was surprised to see that, instead of a needle, she held her husband’s old, and most likely still empty, revolver.
“I heard noise. An argument?” she asked. “You are okay?”
“Quite,” said Inez.
Mrs. Alexander returned to her sewing, and Inez returned to her sorting and planning.
***
“Miss April, please!” Inez could hear Susan down the hall, in the posing room, getting more frustrated. “Antonia, will you please tip the light reflector just a bit more? Perfect! Now, Miss April, hold still.”
Inez and Mrs. Sweet, aka Frisco Flo, sat in Susan’s little parlor, teapot steaming between them amongst the periodicals. Flo seemed pleased with herself. “So it went even better than we planned?” She clasped her hands like a young girl. “I wish I could have been there to see!”
“Oh, yes, Miss Josephine made quite the entrance to a full house at the Tontine,” said Inez. “And I spotted Mr. Johnson right away. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.”
“It certainly was handy the Johnsons are such good friends of the judge and his wife,” said Flo complacently. “And Mrs. Johnson, there’s much she doesn’t know and Mr. Johnson wants it to stay that way.”
“Oh, I bet she suspects.” Inez leaned back in the chair and dug through the reticule. “Wives always do,” she added, sliding the envelope of paper money toward Flo across the table.
Flo picked up the envelope and let her fingers tiptoe through the aligned bills. “Perfect.” She tucked the envelope into her reticule.
“Covers all the expenses?” Inez asked. “Helping Josephine get here, telegrams, hotel room, whatever was needed? Plus what I owe you for ‘services rendered?’”
Flo laughed, a tinkly sound. “Oh, we are square, Mrs. Stannert. I think I would’ve done it even if you hadn’t paid me. I do like to see a charming con man get his comeuppance. Not that I would’ve dreamed of doing so without your consent,” she added hastily.
Inez sighed and relaxed into the chair. “Well, it was a bit of a walk through fire, but I made it to the other side.”
“Welcome to the land of grass widows,” said Flo.
“Did you know Miss Josephine was…” Inez raised her eyebrows.
“No! I had no idea at all. But I must say, it certainly added to her persuasive powers when it came to convincing your husband, excuse me, former husband, to agree to a divorce.”
“That it did.”
“Are you going to keep your name, Stannert? I didn’t realize you were an Underwood. My heavens. I think I would snap back that name toot sweet. Oh, the doors of opportunity the name Underwood would open.”
Inez made a face. “Some of us prefer to make our own way, without the burden—or the privileges, which mark my words, can also be a burden—of the past. The present and the future is all that matters.”
“Well, I certainly agree. I always said, Mrs. Stannert, you and I are cut from the same bolt of cloth. We were just fashioned into different suits, that’s all.” Flo wound a blond ringlet around her finger, staring at Inez expectantly. “So, what’s next? A trip to Laramie, Wyoming? Rumors are there’s a good-looking interim reverend who just took up residence there.”
“Not right away,” said Inez. “I have plans to go West. As for the rest, well, time will tell.”
Inez gathered her gloves, preparing to leave. “Mrs. Sweet, it has been a pleasure. I am glad we will continue to be business partners, quietly, at a distance, and under the table. So sorry I had to withdraw from the sale of your State Street brick building, but I understand Mr. Stannert and Mr. Jackson have tendered an offer to you. I am sure Mr. Stannert and the soon-to-be second Mrs. Stannert will jump on the opportunity to expand their sphere of influence. I will look forward to your missives telling me how our fortunes continue to grow in Leadville.”
Flo’s gaze rose to the corner where the walls met ceiling, and she said, “That’s it? So, when are you planning to tell me, or are you going to let me puzzle it out for myself?”
“Tell you what?”
Flo huffed, exasperated. Her eyes snapped back to Inez. “Honestly. I am a madam. I run a boardinghouse for women of a certain sort. I know these things. Sooooo, were you going to let me in on your little secret about your…condition?” A small smile playing mischievously about her mouth.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Inez.
They stared at each other for another long moment, then Flo threw back her head and laughed. “You win, Mrs. Stannert,” she said. “As you say, time will tell.”
Chapter Forty-five
Antonia tugged on her blue bonnet. The knot bit into the spot under her chin where Dr. G’s knife had jabbed her. It had pretty much healed, but was still sore. “So, where are we going again?”
Mrs. Stannert was watching the baggage men as they loaded their trunks, luggage, and boxes onto the train. “Sacramento first, and from there, to San Francisco,” she said. Antonia heard her say under her breath, “There was a day when I traveled with whatever I could fit in a carpetbag, but no more.”
“So, is Mr. Jackson going to ride your horse while we’re gone?” Antonia asked. She had only met Lucy the previous week and had fallen in love with the horse right away.
Antoina had begged Mrs. Stannert to bring Lucy with them, but Mrs. Stannert had said, “We must decide where to settle first. Then, we’ll see.” She had added, “Too, it’s not such a long train trip from San Francisco to Leadville. We will come back. Actually, you are nearly old enough to take the trip by yourself, if you wish. Miss Carothers said she would love for you to come visit and assist in her studio.”
Antonia liked that idea. She was ready to leave, more than ready. But to come back, for a visit, maybe next summer? Well, that might be nice.
Mrs. Stannert had spent a lot of time talking about the future as she was making all the arrangements for what was to go with them and what was to stay. It was mostly Mrs. Stannert’s stuff being loaded into the baggage cars. Antonia didn’t have much besides her two dress outfits, and her maman’s sash, cards, and knife. And her newsie clothes, of course, which she had refused to part with.
She danced on her toes on the platform, anxious to get on the train, yet reluctant to leave. She looked in the direction of the mountains, toward the cemetery. Mrs. Stannert, Mr. Stannert, Mr. Elliston, and a whole bunch of them had pitched in and bought a plot for Maman and a fancy casket all rosewood with silver swirls along the top and sides, but no viewing window. When Antonia had finally worked up the nerve to ask Mrs. Stannert whether Maman’s remains had been in Dr. G’s workshop, the saloonwoman had looked long and hard at her and didn’t answer right away. She finally laid a hand atop Antonia’s head. “This is where your mother is. Here, in your memories of her, and here,” she touched a spot above Antonia’s beating heart, “where your love for her will never die.”
So, inside the fancy case were the other little bits of Maman’s clothing and whatever they’d found of her in Dr. G’s but weren’t telling her about. Then, they bought a headstone. It wasn’t a big fancy one, like where Dr. G had been all shot to pieces. But it did have an angel carved on it, along with her maman’s name, Drina Gizzi, and the words “Death is only an horizon, and an horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.” Carved below that was “She now sees.”
Antonia was glad there was a place where her maman would always be and where she could come visit. A lump rose in her throat.
Mrs. Stannert glanced at her. “Your maman?” she asked.
Antonia nodded, unable to speak. Mrs. Stannert always seemed to know what was going on inside her, almost as if she had “the sight” herself.
Then, from behind, Antonia heard a shout:
“Tony! Tony Deuce!”
She turned just in time to brace herself as Freddy tackled her around the waist. Ace drew up short, panting, still with a good armful of papers left to sell. Embarrassed, she really didn’t know what to say to them. She’d hoped to say goodbye to the newsies, but everything had been so busy and then she never seemed to have time to go up to the newspaper office or anything and she wasn’t sure what she’d say anyway, so…
She pointed at the stack under Ace’s arm. “You better get busy. Mr. Elliston won’t like that unsold stack of sheets. He’ll want to see you with empty hands and full pockets.”
“Well, these are mostly Freddy’s. He’s still working on getting his patter down and his volume up, so I help out.” He looked at her curiously. “I didn’t know you were a girl. Mr. Elliston told us, and wow, crimany, you could’ve knocked us all over with a feather. You’re the best newsie that ever was, Tony. I’m gonna miss you.”
“I’m gonna miss you too, Ace.” She dug at the platform with the toe of her fancy girl’s boot and had a sudden yearning to be back in her ragtag newsie clothes, walking the streets and shouting, “Extra! Read all about it! News from St. Louis, New York, and Bostonnnn.”
“Little guy here wants to apologize.” Ace yanked on Freddy’s cap. “Go on. Say it.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about you sleepin’ in the newsie shed. But the tall doctor, he gave me a quarter. He was nice.”
“Yeah, and did ya see what happened? He almost burned the place down around our ears! Goes to show, Freddy, next time I say something’s a secret and to tell nobody, that means nobody.” Ace looked at Antonia. “Don’t know if you know, but we’re gettin’ a bunkhouse built on the back property. Mrs. Stannert talked to Mr. Elliston, and they got some fancy-pants guy to build it. Name’s Robitaille?” He wrinkled his nose. “Not sure I said it right.”
“I got my own bed!” said Freddy, tugging on her coat. “And blankets! And we have a stove!”
“All the comforts of home,” agreed Ace. Then, to Antonia, “Wish you coulda seen it before going. We just moved in there two days ago. Crimany, I’m glad to be out of the mission. So, you coming back? Soon?”
“Maybe.” Antonia wavered. “Summer?” She looked around for Mrs. Stannert, but she was talking to one of the baggage handlers, giving him heck about something. “We’re going to California for a while, where the streets are paved with gold.”
“Gold, huh? Gold ain’t got nothin’ on silver, Tony. Just remember that, okay?” And he actually nudged her arm with his elbow. She felt a weird little shiver pass from her arm to her neck. And then her maman’s voice whispered in her head: I have seen it.
“I gotta go, Ace. See you in the summer, if I come visit? Miss Carothers wants me back to work in her studio, I think.”
“You bet.” Ace grinned. “And if Miss Carothers can’t use you, well, Mr. Elliston will. A girl newsie, you’d sell a hecka lot of sheets.”
He grabbed Freddy around the waist and hauled him off of Antonia. “Hey, you’re gonna get that pretty blue dress of hers all smudged up with your inky hands. C’mon, we gotta get to work. See ya, Tony!” And they wandered down the platform, with Ace yelling, “Extra! Get The Independent, right here! All the latest news! Bank note forger arrested in New York City! Body snatchers plying their trade in Baltimore! Mining to resume on the Chrysolite!”
“Antonia.” Mrs. Stannert returned, looking distracted. “Are you ready? It’s time to board.”
Antonia took a deep breath of mountain air, so cold it hurt her lungs, sharp like a knife, but it felt good, not bad. She was glad she had a warm blue coat with a bit of fur around her neck, and it matched the blue bonnet and her blue dress, so she guessed she looked like a city girl, all right. She didn’t feel that way, but Mrs. Stannert just said, “Appearances, Antonia. You wear the costume, you become the part.”
Antonia looked around, one more time. She saw Mrs. Stannert was doing the same. For just a second, Mrs. Stannert looked sad. Then she took Antonia’s gloved hand in hers, and said, “Time to head West, into the sunset! I wonder what adventures await us in California.”
As they boarded the train, Mrs. Stannert murmured, “Excuse me,” as a man came down the steps, almost bumping into them. He backed up, lifting his hat, and moved aside to let them pass.
Tony watched him as he watched Mrs. Stannert come up the stairs. He had a black mustache and a little beard, looked a bit of a toff, looked like someone who’d come from somewhere far away. Then he looked at Antonia. She felt a jolt of…was it fear?
It was something all right.
She held Mrs. Stannert’s hand even tighter, and ducked her head, glad that her face was hidden between the bonnet and the fur collar of her coat. For a moment, she felt like a little fox in a den, tail wrapped tight around its nose, preparing for winter.
She shook the feeling off. They were going now, she and Mrs. Stannert.
They were free.
Mrs. Stannert put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the train, into the future.
Epilogue
The traveler tipped his hat to the woman and girl boarding the train and patiently waited for them to move past so he could disembark. He’d had a long trip, longer than he had thought it would be. He was several months past the time he’d expected to be in Leadville, and in fact had gone so far as to buy a ticket and even had boarded the train about a month previous, before being called back. Work, requests, clients…they were always in need of his services, and he found it hard to say no. However, he had sent letters, money, and felt confident that all was well.
That girl, just now, though. There was something familiar about her. Her eyes? It had been such a quick look, a flash up and down. Little girls are shy, and well they should be. It was a dangerous world. He approved of the way the woman took the girl’s hand and then wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders, protective. That was good. He also approved of the woman in general—tall, dark eyes, dark hair, olive skin, with an air of command he rarely saw in the feminine sex. She had stared at him, not frightened, not shy, almost as if to warn him away, keep his distance from them both.
He descended from the train, carried his single bag off the platform and hailed a hack into town. Leadville called itself a city, but it wasn’t New York, London, Vienna, or even Denver. Not as developed as he had hoped it would be. Still there was much money made here in the silver industry. And where there was money, there were always clients in need of his talents. He thought again of the young girl just now, how there was something about her that reminded him of the woman he was hoping to see again soon. She could even have been that woman’s daughter. But no. Impossible. That woman and her daughter, they were here, in Leadville, waiting for him.
He had the hack stop at the Clairmont Hotel where he expected them to still be lodging. It was a fine hotel, he had to admit, for being here in these high, remote mountains. At the desk, he leaned over his cane and cleared his throat to get the receptionist’s attention. The receptionist looked up from fiddling with the keyboard under the counter. It had to be a keyboard, because he heard the soft metallic jingle of keys on hooks.
“I am looking for a Mrs. Gizzi. She is a guest here. She took rooms back in June, with her daughter.”
The receptionist scratched his side whiskers and eyed him. The traveler knew what he was thinking—here is an obviously well-off stranger, one who speaks with an odd foreign accent, probably from far away, probably come to investigate the famous silver mines for investment. What does he want with this woman?
That would be on the clerk’s mind.
The clerk frowned, tried to look seri
ous, and spun the guest register around to search through it. Lips pursed, he flipped back through the pages. “June, June, you say.” He paused and jabbed at a line with his finger, looking up. “Found it! The Gizzis were here, but they left the hotel…” he paged forward, “at the end of August.”
His heart sank. Could it be he had made a mistake, insisting they come here, rather than wait for him in Denver?
“Where did they go?”
The clerk shrugged, but avoided his eyes.
That told the traveler that he had to dig deeper, perhaps be a little unpleasant.
“I sent them many letters, in care of this hotel, all through summer and fall. What happened to those letters?”
The clerk made a show of opening and closing drawers, but it was clear it was all for show.
“No letters here for Gizzi. Sorry. Maybe they were returned?” He obviously hoped the questions would stop.
“Those letters contained monies for their continued lodgings in your fine hotel.”
Another shrug. But on his forehead, a film of sweat was developing, ever so lightly.
He was lying. He knew something. Something he wanted to keep hidden.
“Could they be in town elsewhere?” asked the traveler. “Another hotel?”
“Could be,” answered the receptionist. “We have lots of hotels in town, and rooming houses, places like that.” He scratched his jaw and tried to keep his gaze steady on the traveler, but his eyes kept jerking to look beyond, as if hoping a guest would come so he could turn away.
He was a liar.
