by Ann Parker
“Don’t you dare accuse me. You, of all people.”
He shook his head. “Inez, this time, you’ve outdone yourself. Yes, I stayed with Josephine. I told you straight out, and explained why. But while I was with her, how many men did you have climbing in and out of our marriage bed, after you sent our son back east? I’m wondering now, did you send him away so you could be free to—”
She slapped him.
They froze, staring at each other. He didn’t touch his face, didn’t look away. It was as if her blow had no effect whatsoever, except for the narrowing of his eyes and an ever-tightening grip on her arm.
“You don’t know what I went through.” Inez whispered. She pulled her arm out of his grasp. He let her go.
“That’s true, Inez, I don’t. But you don’t know what I went through either.” He took another step forward, she took another step back: a choreographed dance of discord. A dance they’d executed so frequently in their life together, Inez knew the moves by heart. This time, though, she had no idea how it would end.
Mark’s expression turned rueful. “I know you won’t believe this, but I want us to have a chance, see if we can’t resurrect the life we had before, or make something better. I’ll do anything, walk through fire, if you’ll agree to one more try. And Inez,” his voice became ominously gentle, an overlay of menace tempering the soft Southern drawl, “I advise you to give my request some serious consideration. When we get back to Leadville, if you take up where you left off, trying to get a divorce, I won’t lie down and let you roll over me. I talked to a lawyer after I pieced together what was going on in my absence. I’ll tell you, darlin’, if we were runnin’ a race, I wouldn’t put a plugged nickel on your chances of winning.”
“Mr. Stannert?” A small voice piped up behind Mark. “’Scuse me, sir? Ma’am?”
Startled, Inez and Mark turned to see who spoke.
Standing a respectful distance away, Mathilda Pace was holding her little brother Atticus by one hand, and William’s sleeve with the other.
Still burning with the heat of emotional battle, Inez dumbly registered that William was drenched, that he was crying and rubbing his eyes with one soaked sleeve. Miss Warner was coming up behind Mathilda. She lugged Edison in one arm and held her long wet skirts up and away from the ground, her mouth pursed in disapproval.
“What happened?” Inez hurried forward, grabbed up William and hugged him to her, ignoring the sudden soaking of her dress.
Miss Warren answered in a long rush, “We were coming up to see if you were done with your picnic, so the children could play together, and saw him, little Wilkie, heading into the stream, you see, because we could see his toy in the water, the fast part toward the middle it was, and he was just starting after it, I didn’t see either of you anywhere, so I had to run pretty fast, and me carrying Edison like this, I only had one hand free, so I waded in and grabbed him by his collar just as he lost his balance, lucky for him I did, for if I’d been just a little slower…” She ran out of breath and stopped, hitching Edison up higher on one hip.
Inez began to shake. The tremor started deep inside and spread out in a growing wave to her limbs. Soon, she was trembling so hard she could barely hold William. “Thank you, Miss Warren,” she whispered. Then, “William, William.” She buried her face in his wet hair.
Through William’s indignant cries, she could hear Mark say, “Miss Warren, we owe you a debt of gratitude we can never begin to repay. If you hadn’t been so vigilant and quick on your feet…” At that point, the words ceased having any meaning to her, becoming just a babble of voices.
There was Miss Warren’s partially mollified tone, Mathilda’s rising inflection of a question, and Mark’s soothing response. Inez heard a chorus of “good-byes!” followed by the chattering of the Pace children and their nanny, fading with distance. Only then was Inez aware that Mark had, at some point, put his arm around her and William.
Inez whispered, “Mark, William almost, he almost…”
“He’s all right, Inez. He lost a toy, which can be replaced, that’s all. He’s fine, without a scratch.”
“But everything could have so easily turned out differently. He could have…oh god, I can’t say it. And it was our fault. We weren’t watching, we were so caught up in our silly squabbling. It’s all just like before, like it’s always been. Things go well for a while and then, something happens, and we are at it again.” She finally looked at him.
His face, so close to hers, was serious, somber, the light of anger gone.
“We can’t do this anymore, Mark. We can’t.”
He pulled them both into a comforting embrace. She shut her eyes, breathing in the reassurance of his familiarity and his voice as he said, “We won’t, Inez. It’ll be different this time. I promise.”
Chapter Thirty-six
The drive back was mostly a silent one. Inez changed William into his last set of dry clothes and held him on her lap the entire journey. He didn’t protest much, apparently too tired to squirm or fuss. After a short while, between the rhythmical clop-clop of the horse and the swaying of the buggy, he fell asleep. Inez was then free to hold him as tight as she wished. She felt that if she loosened her hold on him for even one moment, he’d disappear, vanishing as surely as if he’d been carried away by the icy waters in Cheyenne Canyon.
“Let’s not tell my sister about this,” she finally said to Mark. “It will only distress her. She is distressed too much as is, what with everything that has happened.”
“I believe Mrs. DuChamps is not the only one bearing the burden of worry,” Mark said. “Have you seen how her husband watches her on the sly?”
Inez rested her chin on top of William’s head, thinking. Finally she said, “I don’t believe I have.”
“He looks at her as if she might just vanish in a puff of smoke at any time.”
Inez clutched William’s warm weight even closer.
“Is she here for treatments?” Mark asked.
“Harmony is taking a tonic and is on a regimen prescribed by Dr. Prochazka,” Inez said. “But I gather it’s for her nerves, for a mild case of neurasthenia. She won’t discuss it, but it can’t be too serious. Why, she outpaced me on an excursion up Williams’ Canyon the other day. She insists that the Colorado air and locale suits her and that she has never felt better.”
“No coughing?” he persisted. “Does she eat well? Mrs. DuChamps is very thin, very pale.”
“Harmony does not have consumption!” Inez said it louder than she’d intended. On her lap, William stirred. She quieted her voice, trying to inject the same certainty in a whisper. “She would have told me, if so. If she was hiding that fact, I would know.”
“Well, darlin’. Maybe her husband and the doctor decided it’s best not to tell her.”
At her exclamation of disbelief, he said quickly, “Didn’t mean to stir up a hornet’s nest, Inez. Just letting you know what I observed, that’s all.”
“She’s fine,” whispered Inez. She lightly ran the back of her hand down William’s cheek, wrapped one of his curls around her finger. “Nothing that sunshine, fresh air, and a release from worry won’t cure.”
“If you say so.”
She glanced at Mark. It wasn’t like him to back down so quickly, to give in to her insistence without at least a further question or two. But he had stopped, and was now gazing at the view before them. They were almost down the winding road and about to enter the main road between Colorado Springs and Manitou. Late afternoon shadows from the westering foothills lay long across the valley to Manitou. “We’ll probably be there in time for dinner,” said Mark. He slapped the reins, and the horse moved forward. “If you don’t want to tell your sister about today, I’ll leave it to you. We can just tell everyone we had a pleasant excursion and that William’s toy did not float after all. We needn’t make it sound as if anything occurred, other than a lost plaything.”
Upon arriving at the front of the hotel, Inez accepted the rein
s from Mark. She waited for Mark to come around and take William from her, so she could turn over the care of horse and carriage to the livery boy, Billy.
The hotel’s front door flew open, revealing Aunt Agnes. Inez blinked. Today, Agnes had apparently eschewed the artistic, and was clad in the latest and most restrictive fashion. Even at that distance, Inez managed to register a stunning outfit in gray and white—silver cuirass with plastron over a darker gray revers with a deep, white, pie-crust frill encircling her neck. Agnes hurried across the veranda and down the steps as fast as her fashionably slim skirts would allow. Long black fringe edging the slate-gray V-shaped overskirt shimmied as she covered the ground with tiny, quick steps…sans hat.
Inez tensed. “Aunt Agnes would never venture out of doors in such a proper ensemble without a hat, unless something was seriously amiss.”
Jonathan DuChamps appeared at the still open door, following hard in Aunt Agnes’ footsteps.
Inez thought it would be a close call to see who won the race to the carriage—Agnes, who had a head start, or Jonathan, who was catching up with his long stride.
It was Agnes by a nose.
Inez handed William down to Mark. “Aunt Agnes, what’s wrong?”
Agnes put a hand over her bosom, saying, “The most horrible thing, Inez. The most horrible thing. I will never set foot out of New York again. This place, they can return it to the Indians.”
“Harmony?” Inez’s blood ran cold.
“Your sister’s fine,” Jonathan assured her. “Truly, something very unfortunate has happened, but not unusual. I don’t want you to be unduly alarmed…”
“That marvelous Mr. Calder!” Agnes burst out. “He’s dead!”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Inez felt as if someone had thrown a blanket over her head, muffling all sight and sound, taking away all sense.
“Mr. Calder, dead?” she stammered. “What happened? When?”
“Dreadful,” said Agnes. “He was so young, so vibrant, so talented, in the prime of his life. I could understand if he were an invalid and had passed away in his sleep, but this…”
“What happened?” Inez demanded in a stronger voice.
Jonathan cut in before Agnes could continue. “He had an unfortunate accident up Williams’ Canyon. Fellow must have had no warning at all, no time to move out of the way.”
“Crushed,” said Agnes with dismay and an underlying relish that Inez found positively ghoulish. “A ton of rocks loosened from The Narrows wall and…”
“Mrs. Underwood, you are letting your imagination run away to no good whatsoever. This is not a situation that requires added drama, in that it is tragic enough in the truth,” said Jonathan. He turned back to Mark and Inez. “As I understand, Calder was prone to going out for an early constitutional, walking or riding often before sunrise. He apparently was on his way up the canyon, and had just exited The Narrows when the rocks fell. The most common deaths around Manitou, I’ve been told, are runaway buggies and rocks falling off the cliffs and walls. As far as anyone can tell, it was mercifully quick.”
“His head was crushed,” Agnes added emphatically. “Jonathan, you must not allow Harmony or William to go up there again. It’s dangerous. In fact, we should arrange for the first train home.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stannert,” said Jonathan. “I understand you and your young friend had made his acquaintance soon after you arrived.”
It was as if someone had suddenly ripped the blanket off her muddled sensibilities, leaving her staring into the sun. “Miss Carothers! Has anyone told her?” She looked from Jonathan to Agnes. Seeing their blank expressions, she said, “I am going. Immediately. She is staying in Mrs. Galbreaith’s boarding house, so that is where I’ll be.” She gripped the reins tighter, moved across the buggy seat, and took the whip from its socket. “Mark, will you please take William back to his room? I shall return later this evening. Do not wait up for me.”
She nodded at Billy, who immediately let go of the horse’s head. She commanded, “Trot!”
The horse started trotting down the drive. At the fork that led back to the road, the horse hesitated at the pressure of the reins, as if any direction other than toward the livery must be a mistake. She increased the pull of the rein and said again, “Trot!”
Training took over, and the horse obeyed the command, moving out of the drive and back onto the main road, rising to a trot.
***
Dusk was closing in under the shadow of Pike’s Peak when Inez knocked on the door of Ohio House and was greeted by a solemn Mrs. Galbreaith. “We heard early today about Mr. Calder,” Mrs. Galbreaith said. “Susan insisted we go to the canyon and see where it happened. Neither of us could quite believe it. She was quite distraught, but determined to take photographs of the area where he died.” Mrs. Galbreaith shook her head. “Susan developed them this afternoon and is looking at them now.”
She escorted Inez into the parlor, where Susan stood by a podium, one arm braced, as she examined a handful of images with a magnifying glass. When Mrs. Galbreaith announced Inez, Susan put down the glass and said, “Hello, Inez,” very subdued.
Inez wanted to run to her and give her a hug. But she held back, instead walking up to her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Susan covered her face with both hands. Inez was afraid she was crying, or in danger of bursting into tears. Instead, Susan very slowly rubbed her face, as if trying to bring life back into a countenance too weary and sad. She dropped her hands at last. “They say it was an accident.”
“I heard.”
“It wasn’t,” Susan’s mouth, usually so quick to smile, curved downward. “It couldn’t be. Not from what I’ve found here.” She gazed down at the images on the flat top—two cabinet cards, two unmounted photographs, all of The Narrows.
Inez moved closer. “Show me.”
Susan slid the two cabinet cards toward Inez and handed her the magnifying glass. “These were taken by Mrs. Galbreaith just a handful of days ago. It’s The Narrows, from both sides.”
A familiar male figure stood just visible beyond the looming overhand in both images, hands in pockets, a carefree smile beneath the hat. Inez lowered the glass. “Is that Mr. Calder?”
“Yes, that’s Robert.” Her voice caught. “Now, look at the ones I took early this afternoon. He’s gone, of course, having been taken back to town, but the rocks remain.”
Dread pushing through her, Inez picked up the glass and looked at the two unmounted pictures. A fair-sized boulder and a number of smaller, fist-sized pieces lay in the path.
“Do you see any difference in the rock walls? Either direction?” Susan’s voice was intense. She stood so close to Inez, looking at the photos, that Inez could feel her breath on the back of the hand holding the glass.
Inez looked at the both sets, the old and the new. “No, they look the same to me.”
“That is because they are. I took the cabinet cards with me, so I could be sure to take my photographs from the same angles and distances. There are no fresh scars, no difference in the rock walls before or after the incident.”
Inez slowly lowered the glass and gazed at Susan, absorbing what that meant. “Those rocks on the ground, the ones that crushed him…”
“Did not fall from the wall, as everyone says they did.” Susan’s hands, resting on the podium, curled into fists. “It was not an act of nature.”
“Then what happened?” Inez pondered a bit. “Did someone kill him and try to make it look like nature’s handiwork? If so, where did these rocks come from? That one to the side, it’s too large for even a very strong man to pick up and move. And moved from where and how? Could it have been hauled in by cart? How awkward that would be. Even at an early morning hour, a horse and cart, or a handcart might be noticed. That rock had to be from the canyon, somewhere close by.”
Her time by The Narrows with Harmony slowly came into focus. “Wait,” said Inez. She picked up the glass and looked more closely at
the two images taken on the far side, where Inez and Harmony had talked. In the older image, she could plainly see the flat-topped rock where they had sat, side by side. Where Harmony had placed the closed parasol between them before asking about William, and where Inez had smacked her elbow on the sharp edged chunk of limestone, balanced to the side.
There, in the newer image, was the same bench-sized rock. Only…
“It’s gone,” said Inez.
“What’s gone?” Susan bent over the photographs.
Inez handed Susan the magnifying glass and tapped lightly on the recent image. “This bench-like rock is set back from the trail, but not much. Look at the far end of it. What do you see?”
Susan examined the image. “Nothing.”
“Yes. Now, look at Mrs. Galbreaith’s photograph.”
Susan did. Inez heard her suck in a breath. “The boulder on top. It’s gone.”
“Now, look at the other photo you took today with the rock in the road.”
Susan was silent for a moment, then lowered the glass, staring at Inez. “They are shaped the same and have that dark streak down the middle. It must be the same stone.”
Inez nodded. “Someone moved the boulder. They created a scene, a tableau set up to look like rockfall. It’s a common occurrence, so when he was found, people saw what they wanted to see, what they expected to see. But you’re right, Susan. It was no accident. Someone killed Robert Calder.”
***
Inez stayed long enough to share a cup of tea with Mrs. Galbreaith and Susan. “Mrs. Crowson’s mint tea,” said Mrs. Galbreaith. “Nothing better during stressful times.”
By now, Inez hated the very smell of mint, but she sipped to be sociable and out of respect for Susan’s sorrow. Inez herself was still stunned by the revelation that Calder was dead. He had seemed larger than life, with so much energy and with fortune smiling on him. How could he be gone? The world is not a just place. I know that. Some wrongs, one must simply shoulder and go on. But others, one must fight to right them. This is one of those times.
