Iron Ties

by Ann Parker

  Inez stormed into the storeroom and pulled out a key from its hiding spot. She headed for the very back of the room and unlocked the unobtrusive cabinet containing the good silver and crystal she saved for her Saturday night gatherings. “Well, we’ll just see about this. I’ve always said it’s a mistake to mess with those in the acting trade. Have you more of that coffee, Bridgette? And something tea-like. Scones or muffins or….”

  “There’s peach pie in the safe.”

  “Good enough. Would you please prepare a setting for four and bring it up to the office? And bring this.” Inez unlocked the lower door of the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Napoleon brandy from her private stock.

  Inez left Bridgette brandishing a knife at the pie and hurried up to the office. Please don’t let Abe have promised them anything.

  Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard Mrs. Fairplay laugh. The distinctive musical sound—a trill up the scale, then slowly descending—was the last bit of evidence she needed. That laugh was something she’d carry to her grave. It played counterpoint to the memory of the blonde actress, sitting on Mark’s lap, arm flung carelessly around his neck. Not much later, the blonde had paused on the stairs to the private second-story rooms and shot a look at Mark full of lust. He had straightened his tie, glanced once toward Inez—who was attempting to keep an eye on Mark while defending herself in a cutthroat game of poker—and headed for the stairs.

  “Ma’am?”

  Inez started and turned.

  Bridgette, coffee, cups, brandy, and pie on the silver tray, was at her elbow looking at her with concern.

  Inez realized that she had been standing there, staring at the door panel, her hand slick with sweat, gripping the knob as if she’d strangle it.

  She exhaled hard and stripped off her gloves. “‘All the world’s a stage and we but players in it.’ Well, Maude Fairplay most certainly did not play fair back in Dodge.” She opened the door, and they went inside.

  C.A. and Maude sat on the loveseat, while Abe occupied an overstuffed green velvet chair that had seen better days. All three were smiling, as if they’d just shared a joke. Or sealed a deal.

  C.A. sprang up as Inez entered. “Ah! Mrs. Stannert! We were just discussing the traveling life. I understand from Abraham that you, too, have some tales from the road. And, I also understand that you are a passionate advocate of Shakespeare and his works. Lovely, just lovely.” He beamed.

  Inez looked at Abe, who lifted his eyebrows. He lowered and raised them again, their silent signal from the old days: Don’t play your hand yet.

  “So, you’re doing Shakespeare at Tabor’s?” She accepted a half-full cup of coffee and the bottle of brandy from Bridgette. “What, exactly, are you playing?”

  C.A. nearly bounced on the sofa in his enthusiasm. “Our little troupe is here through July. We’re finishing Hamlet and taking on The Tempest next. Perhaps later we’ll move on to something more military such as Henry the Fifth, provided the rumor be true about the visit of….” He touched the side of his nose again, a gesture, she decided, intended to draw the listener into his confidence. “Perhaps I’m not supposed to say.”

  He looked at his wife as if for guidance. She described an elegant figure eight with her fan and shook her head slightly.

  “You referrin’ to General Grant?” asked Abe.

  Inez saw the slightest of frowns cross Maude’s face, then vanish.

  “You see?” C.A. patted Maude’s hand reassuringly. “There’s naught to worry about, my love. They already know about the general’s possible visit.” C.A. turned back to them, apologetic. “A fault of mine, nearly unable to keep a secret.”

  “Ah, but your virtues are legion,” said Maude.

  Inez leaned back in the chair, wishing she had a whole lot more brandy for the conversation. “I understand you’re interested in performing at the Silver Queen,” she said more evenly than she felt.

  Maude brightened, indeed, twinkled, as she leaned forward, the fan dangling from her wrist. “C.A. has done a brilliant job of rendering The Tempest. His Prospero is magnificent.”

  “And you, I assume, are Miranda?” Inez pictured Maude, her light brown hair loose and flowing, arms dramatically raised, as Prospero’s daughter.

  Maude picked up the delicate china cup, a border of silver flowers ranging around the rim, and held it primly between thumb and middle finger. “Oh, I play many parts. Sometimes Miranda, sometimes Ariel.” She sipped, then clapped a hand to her mouth in a most unladylike fashion.

  “Be careful,” Inez said demurely. “It’s hot.”

  C.A. blew across the top of his cup, poured a careful bit into the saucer, and squinted at it, looking, Inez thought, like a cat inspecting a dish of cream. Then he announced, “Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and,” he smiled at his wife, “sweet as love.”

  Inez swirled the liquid in her own cup. “Shakespeare?”

  “A Turkish proverb.” C.A. tipped the saucer and sipped.

  “Two out of three’s not bad. And this,” she tipped brandy into her own cup, “may not sweeten it much, but I can assure you, it will smooth the rough edges. And cool it down.”

  She offered the bottle to Maude, who declined.

  “So you played in Dodge three years ago?” Inez inquired, amazed at the steadiness in her tone.

  Maude waved a languorous hand. “In our early days. We were just setting out in our careers together. A brief appearance, as I recall.”

  Inez turned to Abe. “Isn’t that a coincidence. I do believe Mr. Jackson and I were in Dodge the same time as you.”

  It wasn’t until the words were out that she realized they implied that she and Abe were more than business partners. Neither C.A. nor Maude batted an eyelash, but Inez quickly added, “My husband was there too. He, alas, passed last year.” Passed out of my life and into another.

  She cut off the condolences she could see forming on their lips. “His name was Mark Stannert. A sporting man, loved the tables. Cards, faro sometimes. And quite a connoisseur of the stage.” She watched Maude for signs of recognition. “Just think, our paths may have crossed. Perhaps at the, oh, the Lone Star, say. Wouldn’t that be…ironic.”

  Maude looked back, clear-eyed, no longer laughing. Her mobile face was still and cold as stone. “Indeed. Who’s to say? It was, as C.A. says, many towns back. And a long time ago.”

  Abe cleared his throat. Loudly.

  Inez wrenched her gaze away from Maude to find Abe glaring at her. His unspoken message to her required no translation: Don’t push it, Inez.

  Abe turned to C.A. “Well now, what say we talk some dates. Sounds like we’ve got an understandin’.”

  “What understanding?” Inez interrupted.

  “We can’t afford to have you-all come in three times a week. Maybe later in the month, if business picks up.”

  “Business is fine, we really don’t need specialty acts.”

  “Give us time to promote it. You do some from your end, we’ll do some here, maybe put somethin’ in the papers. Mrs. Stannert knows the editor of one of the locals. We can try to get somethin’ in before the Fourth. If’n you could do somethin’ on the holiday, and maybe before then.”

  C.A. nodded. “The Opera House is closed on the Fourth. We could arrange for an appearance, say, early evening.”

  “The Fourth,” Inez said furiously, “will no doubt be quite busy. Customers come in early, get tight and raise a ruckus—”

  A dark hand closed viselike on Inez’s arm, choking her off as efficiently as if it’d closed around her neck. Abe stood, dragging her along with him. “Pardon us a moment, while I explain to my business partner here what we’ve already talked about.” His hand tightened even more, warning her not to say anything. “You and the missus could enjoy some of that pie. Mrs. O’Malley knows how to bake them, none better in Leadville. And the brandy’s first-rate. Mrs. Stannert always insists on the best.”

 
Abe propelled Inez out of the office and down the short hall to the unfinished gaming room. Once there, she pulled away, rubbing her arm. “That,” she said coldly, “will leave bruises.”

  “You aimed to sink the whole deal from the start.”

  “Abe. That Maude. She’s the woman in Dodge. The one that Mark….” Inez closed her eyes for a moment, pushing the hurt—How can it still be so sharp after three years?—back into the dark where it belonged.

  “Come on, Inez. You sayin’ you recognize someone from that long ago?”

  “Oh I do. I do indeed.”

  Abe shook his head. In disgust. Or maybe, Inez thought, disbelief.

  Silence stretched over them, taut as a tightrope. Inez suddenly felt exhausted, alone. She turned her back on Abe and walked across the unvarnished wood floor toward one of the uncovered windows, her footsteps echoing loud in the empty space. Light, bright and ruthless, poured in. It threw dust motes into relief and highlighted the sawdust on the floor and the two sawhorses left from the last foray at finishing the remodel. Inez leaned on the sill, and stared out at the view of town and the mountains beyond. At the end of the block, the second- and third-story windows of Frisco Flo’s parlor house stared back, blank-eyed with curtains drawn, over the tops of the intervening buildings.

  Inez wished there was a magic spell that could turn the sawhorses into real steeds, so she could just ride away from everything. Just for a while.

  “Inez, do you want to make this business go or not?” Abe sounded calm, as if he were asking her nothing more than if she preferred her whiskey neat or with a chaser. “This is our chance to strike it rich. These folks—the Fairplays—they’re willin’ to work with us. They’ve been courted by a couple of other places, an’ they came here. I think Taps had somethin’ to do with that. Anyhow, they’re even willin’ to work without a proper stage, though maybe we’ll take some of the lumber up here and throw somethin’ together for them. Come July Fourth, and then when the trains come in, we could make a killin’ with them. They’re askin’ a reasonable cut. It’d be just the two of them. Not the whole troupe. They’d do a scene from this Shakespeare play they’ve been workin’ on. He’s a real entertainer. She sings, he says. Old Taps could play the tunes.”

  Inez felt more than saw Abe come up beside her. He rested his hand beside hers on the sill. “Look. I don’t know what’s got into you lately. You’ve been ill-tempered as a bobcat. Well, I’ve been too. Angel, y’know, I worry ’bout her. The strike didn’t do us any good, and business hasn’t come back real strong since. But you know what Mark used to say, ‘The only thing sure about luck is that it’s bound to change.’ Well, I can smell change in the air now. Like rain a-comin’. Our luck’s gonna change for the better, I’d bet on it. And the Fairplays are the hand we’re gonna play to hit pay dirt.”

  “You’re mixing your metaphors,” Inez said tiredly. She pushed at the small of her back to relieve a crick from her riding stays. “Do you think they’ll play straight with us?”

  “Sure. We’ll put the deal to paper. And I’ll take care of everything, Inez. All you gotta say is yes. That you trust I can do this right.”

  She closed her eyes, grateful for Abe’s words. For his patience with her. For Abe himself. What would I have done without him these past two years. He stood by William and me through the worst of times and afterward. I’d trust him with my life. I can trust him about this. He’s right. We’ve got to get back on track and tend to business. And if the Fairplays are the bonanza for us he thinks they are….

  “In the words of the local prospectors, if you think it’ll assay well, let’s stake the claim. But I don’t want to talk with them. I’ll be polite, but it’ll be your deal. Take care of whatever they need, whatever is reasonable. I want the Silver Queen to succeed.” She ran a hand along the unfinished sill. “Any profits, our first priority should be fixing up this room so it’s ready before the trains arrive, at least.” She turned her back on the window. “Agreed?”

  Abe’s white teeth flashed in a smile. “Agreed. Knew you’d come to your senses, Inez.”

  “Well, let’s go back and put it to paper. And I hope they’ve left some of Bridgette’s pie for us.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  From the landing, Inez watched the Fairplays exit to Harrison Avenue. She was thinking how good it would feel to change out of her riding clothes when she noticed Sol beckoning from the main floor. What now? Inez descended to where Sol was stacking dirty glasses and bowls onto a tray.

  “There’s a fellow here who says you were expecting him.” He nodded down the length of the bar.

  To her astonishment, she saw the professor, nursing a tankard of tired beer. “How long has he been here?”

  “Long enough for the beer to go flat.”

  Inez approached the professor, who brightened when he saw her. He doffed his battered derby, which now sported a natty feather in the band. “Mr. Delaney sent me into town to deliver some papers to chief engineer McMurtrie. Delaney’s cousin, y’know. Thought I’d take the opportunity to find you. Delaney’ll nae remember when I left nor when I return, as long as I’m back with McMurtrie’s response by dark. He’s a bit too fond of the drop of the pure.” The professor looked at his beer sadly as if mourning its condition. “I remembered ye’d promised to introduce me to a newspaper man. I hope I’m not inconveniencing ye any, but if there’s any chance we could talk with him now….”

  Inez turned to Sol. “I’m taking the professor here to meet Jed Elliston. We’ll be at The Independent, if you need me.”

  On impulse, she went behind the counter and retrieved an unopened bottle of Kentucky bourbon from the rows lining the backbar.

  The professor brightened considerably at the sight.

  “To smooth the introductions,” she explained.

  Inez hurried upstairs to her private changing room and grabbed a cashmere paisley shawl, one of her favorites and long enough to cover all but the lower third of her crumpled riding clothes. She tied on a matching olive-colored straw hat that covered most of her hair and adjusted the bow to sit jauntily below her left ear. Grabbing a pair of gloves, she paused to inspect herself in the mirror above the washbasin and was pleased to see the reflection of a respectable-looking woman peering back.

  Then she looked down at her inglorious riding boots. “Rather mars the effect,” she said to her reflection. “But if they’ve sprinkled the streets, it’ll be muddy. If not, it’ll be dusty. No reason to scuff a pair of perfectly decent shoes in the name of fashion.”

  A fleeting vision of Maude Fairplay’s shoes skimmed through her mind, the toes and the narrow heels under the pleated hem embroidered with a profusion of flowers and leaves. With a tiny spark of malice, she imagined how wilted they would look after crossing Leadville’s streets a few times.

  Inez flew down the stairs.

  Sol said, “He’s waiting by the State Street door.”

  Pulling the shawl snug around herself and the cradled bottle of bourbon, Inez approached the door and paused to gaze at the buffalo above the lintel. The glass eyes stared straight ahead, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the plains.

  She turned to the professor. “Let’s see if we can’t persuade Mr. Jed Elliston that he could use a hand in reporting about the railroad.”

  ***

  The office of The Independent sat halfway up the second block of East Third in a fairly robust log building, complete with a tent-like half wall above the door. It hadn’t changed a bit since Jed had arrived and set up shop in 1878, nearly the same month that Inez, Mark, and Abe had blown into town, drawn by tales of fortunes made in the mines and lost at the gaming tables.

  “If the pickin’s are so easy, we might as well be there to pick our allotment,” Mark had said. It was after the disaster in Dodge, and Inez had wanted to put as much mileage between that city and them as possible, hoping to obliterate Mark’s and her own indiscretions with the dust of time and distance. Leadvil
le, where silver “flowed in the streets,” sounded as good a place as any. Then, once Mark won the saloon in a poker game and Inez discovered that she was in a “family way,” the decision to settle down and stay was easy. And Abe, as tired of the traveling life as the Stannerts, had agreed to stay and run the business with them.

  Approaching the newspaper office, Inez recalled the first time she’d met Jed. It was before she’d become heavy with child and was still doing a turn at the Saturday night poker games that Mark had arranged for the highrollers of Leadville. Jed had strolled in, dressed in his sharp city suit, dark hair slicked back, looking down his long nose at the crowd around the table, heavy-lidded eyes lingering incredulously on Inez before moving on. He’d removed his silk top hat. “Jed Elliston. Owner, publisher, and editor of The Independent, the newest newspaper in Leadville. I understand that there’s a serious game here?”

  Inez looked at Mark. Mark smoothed his mustache and winked, their signal for “pigeon.” Then, he turned the charm on, as only Mark could. “Welcome, pilgrim!” He pulled a chair forward to the table and glanced at the other players. “You gents mind one more?”

  Yes, Jed was an easy mark at the tables, yet he had stood by her during hard times, in his own way. And he had finally come around to the notion of playing cards with her. Most of the time.

  Well Jed, now’s time for you to pay up for your recent lucky streak.

  She turned to the professor. “I’ll make the introductions and start the conversation flowing with….” She revealed the bottle beneath the shawl. “It’s probably best if I stay a while, in case Jed gets difficult. When things are running smoothly, I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business. I’ll warn you, Jed can be insufferable sometimes. Just remember, he’s odd man out regarding the Denver and Rio Grande.”

  “Aye. ’Tis a good thing I’m not a wagerin’ man.” The professor stared at his reflection in the window of a dry goods store. He removed his derby and dusted it quickly with a forearm, then tugged down on his waistcoat and straightened his wilting celluloid collar.