Harlan nodded, but the closer they had come to the surface, the less Jeff trusted him. The man was going to try to betray them. Just as the bucket approached the surface, Jeff reached up and took a grip on Harlan's throat. Harlan's hands flew to his neck, but Jeff's hold was too strong. His fingers pressed down on the windpipe. Harlan struggled desperately. Jeff released him just as the bucket broke the surface.
Harlan tried to call out, but no sound came from his abused vocal cords. As Jeff vaulted out of the bucket, he saw Violet slipping the pole across the shaft. The ore bucket was secured. He just had to reach Blake.
Blake took one look at Jeff and started running down the hill. "Stop him," Jeff yelled to some men working a nearby mine. "He just tried to kill a woman."
"He's a liar," Blake shouted, dodging the men.
"I'm Jefferson Randolph," Jeff shouted. "Stop that man!"
The miners didn't need to know more. They ran down Tom Blake.
"Hold him." Jeff hurried back for Violet.
When he reached her, Violet was out of the bucket. Harlan was also out, but he was holding his head, blood running down his face.
"What happened?" Jeff asked.
"He tried to assault me," Violet said, "so I hit him with one of the pieces of ore he tried to steal from my uncle."
"But where--"
"In my purse," Violet said. "I always carry everything I need in my purse."
Chapter Twenty-nine
"It'll be easy to prove Harlan and Chapman have been stealing from the Little Johnny," Jeff told George. They were relaxing in the Tabor suite. George had arrived on the train early that afternoon.
"There're no other workings in either mine. Nobody saw them kill Eli Goodwin, but Harlan confessed that Chapman killed the miner who helped me. Violet will get the mine and the money for all the silver Chapman and Harlan sold since the day her uncle died. That ought to come to around a half million dollars."
"I don't suppose you're planning to go back to the Wolfe School," George said.
"I'm through being a housemother," Violet said.
"I was thinking of headmistress," George said. "Miss Settle has resigned. The Board is looking for someone to fill her position."
"Violet wants to go back to Massachusetts and set up a charity for women who cared of men disabled in the war," Jeff said.
George gave Violet a glance which said I want an explanation.
"I'm not sure what I'm going to do," Violet said. "Things have been changing so quickly."
"I'm trying to talk her into staying in Denver," Jeff said. "I don't suppose Clara Rabin will like it, but it's about time Denver society had a new Mrs. Randolph to talk about."
George directed a speculative glance at the pair.
"Yes, I've asked her to marry me, but she hasn't said yes." Jeff got to his feet. "See if you can talk her into it while I go see the judge. I want to make certain everything's straight about Violet's mine and her money before we leave. I'll be glad to see the last of Leadville."
Jeff's departure created an awkward silence. Violet poured George another glass of milk.
"You sure you aren't hurt?" George asked Violet for the third time.
"I'm just fine. It's Jeff you ought to be worried about. I don't know how he had the strength to climb that rope with a cut in his shoulder."
"Jeff is a lot tougher than people think."
"Tougher than he thinks," Violet added.
"Yes, he has underestimated himself more than anybody else. But I hope getting all of you out of that mine will give him more self-confidence."
"He was like a different person even before he got caught in the mine," Violet said. She blushed at the memory of being carried through the streets over Jeff's shoulder. "I don't know whether it's being away from the bank or realizing he's not disabled, but I've never seen him so cheerful. I hesitate to say it, but almost sweet tempered."
George laughed. "Don't say it, ever, to anyone. It'll embarrass Jeff, and nobody else will believe you."
Violet didn't return George's laugh. "But you do."
George sobered. "I'm closer to Jeff than the others. I remember what he was like before the war. He won't ever be that boy again, but neither will he be the embittered man he's been for the last twenty years. You're responsible for that. Are you going to marry him?"
"I told him to ask me in a few days."
"Why?"
"I don't want his marrying me to have anything to do with his arm. I want to give him time to be sure of that for himself."
"But you do love him? You want to marry him?"
"More than anything."
George took a swallow from his milk. "Have you talked about living in Denver?"
"We haven't talked about living anywhere, but I know Jeff could never line in Massachusetts. He hasn't changed that much."
George's smile was wry. "If you want Jeff to be truly happy, you'll have to go to Virginia."
"That's the last place I want to go."
"The part of Jeff that's missing is there. He'll never find it anywhere else."
"I don't understand."
"Jeff's bitterness over his arm is only part of what was wrong with him. He could have stood the losses of the war if there had been anything to go back to. But the South he loved was destroyed. Not the plantations, the idealism, the chivalry. It wasn't a perfect world. Some of us can live without it, but others would rather die than try. My mother was one of them. She willed herself to die. My father, scoundrel that he was, rode at the head of a charge he knew he couldn't survive. Something died during those four years that can never be replaced.”
"Jeff has made a life for himself here. He's a valuable member of the community, but he'll never be whole unless he returns to Virginia, unless he works to restore as much of that lost world as he can. He won't succeed. A time such as that can't last now anymore than it could in ancient Greece or medieval France. But he'll have to try."
"But he's so successful as a banker."
"That's part of the irony. He's a brilliant banker, but he's been dying inside. He'll be happier as a struggling farmer."
"I don't understand."
"I don't either. I just know the only way he can cancel out the loss of his arm is to try to restore the best of what he lost. You can help him."
"Me?"
"You'll understand him when others don't. Don't misunderstand me. Jeff will never be completely happy. Only turning back the clock could do that."
"You don't think I will either."
"You'll never forget the loss of your family. But you can make your peace if you get to know the people you've hated for so long. People are people, no matter what side they may be on. Once you learn that, you may be able to forgive them, and yourself."
"Myself."
"Yes. You never forgave yourself for not being able to save your brother."
Violet looked uneasy. "Jeff always said you and Rose could look inside people's heads. Now I know what he means."
"Did he ever ask you where you stayed the night after the charity ball?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell you him stayed with Fern?"
"Probably, but not just yet. He trusts me enough not to want to know. I like that feeling."
* * * * *
"I don't feel comfortable staying in this hotel," Violet told Jeff.
"There's no place else," Jeff said. "You can't stay with Fern and Madison. Until that damned rodeo is over, they won't have room to sneeze. You can't stay at my house. You might know Hen and Laurel would insist on coming for the wedding."
"About the wedding--"
"I know it's bigger than you wanted, but we've already had to turn down half the people who want to come. Besides, you'll be seeing them every day from now on. It's a good way to be introduced to them."
"That's something else we need to talk about." Violet turned so she could watch him more closely. She didn't want to miss a single nuance of his facial expression, to overlook a shading of his
eyes. "I don't want to live in Denver. I think we ought to move to Virginia."
Jeff's expression froze.
"Who's been talking to you?"
"I--"
"You don't want to live in Virginia. You don't like the South. It was George. I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with him."
"It wasn't George," Violet said. "At least it wasn't George who made me decide."
"Then who did?"
"You."
"I never said a word. I planned to stay in Denver."
"Maybe you've forgotten, but you've been talking to me about Virginia from the day we met. You've always wanted to go back. George told me what you said to him after the charity ball."
"A lot of things have changed since then. I didn't think you would have me."
"You still have a lot of questions you need answered. You can't do that here."
"What about you?"
"George said I'd never get over my anger until I got to know Southerners as people instead of as a war machine that deprived me of my family."
"George had no business telling you any of this."
"But he's right. You of all people ought to understand that."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then we can come back to Denver. Or any other place you want to live. I don't care as long as I'm with you. I just think we ought to start in Virginia."
"Are you sure? I mean really sure?"
"Yes. I'll always wish I'd met you when I was nineteen. I feel I've missed ten years of my life. But I won't have the rest of it compromised by the past. I want to face it and get rid of all the hurt. I love you, Jeff Randolph. You're the most wonderful, the most complete man I've ever met. But I mean to have all of you. I won't have any ghosts coming between us."
Jeff held Violet close. "No matter where we go, there'll always be ghosts."
"Okay," Violet said, "you can have two little ones. But the rest are going to have to haunt somebody else, or I'll sic a New England witch on them."
Epilogue
Christmas, 1881
Rose and Violet sat in the carriage, watching Jeff and George inspect the framework of a huge house under construction.
"I tried to tell him we didn't need so much space," Violet said to Rose. "I can't possibly have enough children to fill such a house."
"You've made a good beginning," Rose said. She looked down at the blond baby Violet held in her arms. "Not even Fern managed to produce a child within the first year and get pregnant with another."
Violet blushed. "I suppose both of us feel we have to make up for lost time."
"Are you going with him when he campaigns?"
"I don't know. I've already told him I can't leave the home."
"George told me something about it."
"It's a combination of what Jeff and I wanted," Violet said. "We bring both Union and Confederate disabled soldiers here for a month. We give them the best medical attention we can find, pay for limbs, provide any special equipment they might need, and get them as healthy as we can. It gives them some needed care, gives their families a month of rest. When they return, they're all better able to cope with each other."
"But it's not enough for Jeff?"
"No. First it was a bank. Then he wanted to buy every ruined farm in three counties and return them to working order. Now he wants to run for the state legislature."
"You realize he's going to want to be governor some day."
Violet didn't look happy about that. "I've tried to tell him there are thousands of men in Virginia, that he doesn't have to do everything himself, but he doesn't listen. I want a husband, not a miracle-worker."
"Randolph men make some of the most difficult husbands in the world, but they get the hang of it. Jeff's getting started later than the others. It may take him a little longer to settle into the job."
Summer, 1882
"Are you sure you're comfortable?" Jeff asked.
"I'm fine," Violet said. "I want to enjoy the breeze as long as I can. It'll soon be too hot out in the afternoon."
"We could move to Massachusetts for the summer. It's bound to be much cooler on the cape."
"Don't be absurd," Violet said with a spurt of laughter. "You'd never survive having a child born a Yankee."
Jeff patted her rounding stomach and smiled contentedly. "I don't know. I like having a Yankee wife. I don't think Tom would mind a Yankee sister."
Violet looked to where her son was crawling through the grass in search of bugs, twigs, pieces of dirt, anything else disgusting he could find to put in his mouth. Oddly enough, she felt Virginia was more her home now than Massachusetts. Her new life, her new family, were bound up with Virginia. She couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
She wanted to go back someday, at least for a visit, but not yet, not until she had the baby. Until she had several more babies. Most of them girls. Jeff deserved at least one southern belle daughter, but one with enough New England common sense to keep her from being an embarrassment. Violet decided the experiment would need a pool of several daughters to work from. She doubted she would get it right the first time.
"I'm just fine," Violet said. "Besides, I don't think the doctor would let me travel that far."
"What did he say?"
"He said I ought to be delivered of a fine, healthy baby in July. And if my husband started to bother me too much, I could move into the clinic with the men."
Jeff settled into the swing next to his wife. It hung from the limb of a huge oak tree behind the big white brick house. "I want a girl this time. One with red hair, blue eyes, one just as stubborn and hardheaded as her mother."
"I'd think one of me was enough."
"And after that, I think I'd like to stay home."
Violet sat up, turned to stare at her husband.
"I wouldn't mind running for the legislature," Jeff continued, "but I don't like the idea of being away from my family. I want to be here when you jump up to see what Tom has managed to find to put his mouth. I like seeing you move around the house, fat and sleek with our unborn child. I like having the time to soak up all the fun of being a father, of being your lover."
"You sure you won't miss it?"
"The bank is enough."
"But you wanted to do so many things."
He drew her to him. The kiss was long, languorous, and as sweet as the smell of the honeysuckle that climbed the wall that separated the yard from the garden.
"I'm doing them," he said.
"What about Virginia?"
"Maybe someday, if you turn into a southern belle, I'll turn to politics, just to have someone to talk to who has an opinion of her own."
Violet put her arms around her husband and settled as close to him as she could. "Virginia just lost the best governor it could ever have had," she said. "I intend to remain a Damned Yankee until the very end."
Author's Note
Leadville, Colorado, was the site of one of the richest mineral deposit on Earth. In its first sixty years, it produced $400,000,000 in mineral wealth, more than any single mining district in the country. Gold was discovered in the highest valley of the Arkansas River in 1860. But it was silver, first mined in 1876, that put the town on the map. For the next fifteen years, Leadville was the silver capital of the world. After the silver and gold ran out, enormous deposits of lead, zinc, and copper were discovered, and finally molybdenum, an important alloy for steel used by the automobile industry. For most of the twentieth century, Leadville was the only important source of this metal in the world.
The often told tale of Horace Tabor reflects the history of Leadville. A store owner since the earliest days of placer mining, Tabor took a half-interest in a mine in exchange for grubstaking two old miners. They stuck silver. From then on, Tabor could do no wrong. He used that money to buy more mines, each richer than the last. He bought useless mines, drilled deeper and found enormous deposits. For a time his income was more than $1,000,000 a year. He divorced his wife to marry a pretty widow, dabb
led in politics, and gave Leadville and Denver two of their most extravagant buildings -- the Tabor Grand Hotel and the Tabor Opera house. Tabor lost his fortune in the crash of 1993 and died broke six years later.
Leadville didn't sink quite so low, but the mineral wealth finally gave out. From a town of nearly 30,000 in 1880, it has shrunk to a sleepy town of a few thousand living primarily on the memory of its past. The decaying buildings, slag piles, collapsing mine shafts, and eroded hillsides are still there. But so are the snow-covered peaks and crisp mountain air.
And the Tabor Opera House with its private suite.
About the Author
Leigh Greenwood is the award-winning author of over fifty books, many of which have appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. Leigh lives in Charlotte, North Carolina. Please visit his website at http://www.leigh-greenwood.com/ .
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