Iron Ties

by Ann Parker

  “And there are other businesses,” drawled Jed, “set to go under, thanks to the ruthless machinations of—”

  Inez kicked him in the ankle.

  Jed jumped and glared at Inez.

  “Is it time for me to cut the cards, Mr. Elliston?” She smiled sweetly at him. “Just set them down, right there, and I’ll be most happy to accommodate you. There now. Well, gentlemen, while Mr. Elliston deals, I’d like to propose a toast to young Mr. Holt here.” She turned in her chair and held up her glass of bourbon. “Wishing you the best on your birthday and the luck of the draw.”

  Reuben belatedly raised his beer. Fine crystal tinked against heavy-bottomed glass. The other players, except for Jed, followed suit.

  Inez admired the amber color of the liquid in her glass. Her gaze slid over the rim to Preston, who was leaning against the wall, watching the proceedings with what appeared to be amusement. His eyes met hers just as she let the first taste slip between her lips, intense, warm, and smooth, right through the finish, with a hint of cloves lingering on her tongue.

  Inez put down her drink. “Ante up, gentlemen.”

  Coins and paper money formed a small pile in the center of the table.

  She picked up her cards. As was her habit, she waited to look at her own hand, preferring to take a reading of the other players as they first viewed what Dame Fortune had blessed—or cursed—them with.

  Evan adjusted his glasses. His expression changed not at all, but Inez noted that he took longer than usual examining the cards. Must be a difficult hand to work with. Cooper’s eyebrows shot up, then quickly returned to normal. Ah, he must be sitting well. Jed lifted the merest corner of his cards, leaving them face down on the table. He looked around, his eyes heavy lidded, expressionless. However, Inez could feel, ever so slightly, the vibration of his leg jittering up and down next to hers. Hmmm. Something’s up. And Reuben—

  The boy held his cards close and looked around the table. With a hint of belligerence, he said, “I’m ready. How about you-all?”

  Jed sighed and looked at Evan. Evan adjusted his glasses. “Check.”

  Cooper pursed his lips, then said, “Five,” and threw in a half eagle.

  “I’ll raise you five,” Reuben said immediately.

  Inez looked at her lackluster hand. Ten high. No chance of a straight. No reason to throw money away.

  She shook her head. “Folding, gentlemen.” She tossed her cards in, face down, and settled back to watch the scene unfold.

  Everyone else called.

  Jed stayed pat. Evan exchanged three. Cooper, after some hesitation, exchanged a single card, as did Reuben.

  Evan started the round with another five. Cooper matched it. Reuben said, “I’ll raise you ten.”

  Preston stirred by the wall. Inez, preparing to down the last half measure of her drink, paused. Jed’s jittering stopped. Ah, he’s going to make his move.

  “I’ll raise you twenty,” said Jed.

  Evan pulled off his glasses and set his cards down. “I’m out.”

  Cooper hesitated. Inez wondered if he was debating a bluff. He must not have anything, or he’d not hesitate so long.

  Apparently realizing that his hesitation was a giveaway, Cooper raised a hand in surrender, then threw his cards down. “Fold.”

  Reuben stared hard at Jed, his left hand squeezing the photocase spasmodically. “You’re bluffing, mister. You ain’t got nothing.”

  Jed rocked in the chair, looking smug. “It’ll cost you to find out.”

  Reuben set his cards face down and dug in first one pocket, then the other, pulling out a mash of well-worn bills, a few gold and silver coins. After some silent counting, he pushed them into the middle. “I’ll raise ya another five.”

  Inez raised her eyebrows. Although the amount in total wasn’t at all unusual for a Saturday night game, she was certain that, for Reuben, this was definitely high stakes.

  Jed was glaring back at him with dislike written all over his face. “Very well. And I’ll raise you…ten.”

  Jed, don’t let this get personal.

  Reuben looked back at Preston, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, beer in hand, and said in a low urgent tone, “Hey, how much money’ve you got?”

  Preston stirred from the wall and came forward. “You plan on paying me back from next week’s wages?”

  “The whole next month’s more like. You got thirty dollars?”

  Holt shook his head, then pulled money from his pocket. “You’re lucky today’s payday, son.”

  Reuben took the handful of gold coins from Preston and slammed them on the table. Inez winced, thinking of the mahogany finish.

  “Raise twenty-five.”

  Jed looked down at his remaining cash. Inez could almost see him thinking: The night is young. Reuben’s only in for one game. I could be out the rest of the evening, if Reuben does have something better.

  Jed waved a hand in benediction and flung down his cards. “Take it.” He looked as if he was about five years old and had been forced to swallow a large dose of cod liver oil.

  Reuben let out an ear-splitting whoop. He grabbed up the photocase, kissed the cover fervently, then gathered up the money, cramming it into his pockets. Preston tapped him on the shoulder. “Whoa there. You owe me. And Mrs. Stannert. So what’s the rake?”

  Inez did a quick mental calculation and said, “Ten dollars.”

  Preston pulled a gold eagle from Reuben’s winnings and set it on the table. “Much obliged.”

  Reuben drank down the dregs of the beer, his face glazed and shiny with excitement. He turned to Preston. “Reckon I got enough now to go down the street.”

  Preston settled his hat. “If that’s how you want to spend your money.”

  “Damn straight!” he yelled, then glanced guiltily at Inez. “Sorry, ma’am. Thanks for lettin’ me play in your game.” He muttered something to the rest that sounded like “a pleasure” and hotfooted it out of the room.

  Preston lingered at the door and smiled at Inez. “Don’t know if him winning was good or bad, but it’ll give him something to talk about ’round the tents later.” His gaze caused her cheeks to flush as if brushed by a warm breeze. He nodded to the men around the table, saving a cold stare for Jed, and left, leaving silence like a vacuum behind him.

  Inez stared at Reuben’s cards, left in a haphazard pile face down on the table.

  She looked up at her players. All eyes were locked on Reuben’s cards.

  “Gentlemen, you did not see me do this.” She reached over and flipped over Reuben’s hidden hand.

  A busted straight.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “How’d the evening go?” Reverend Sands pulled Inez’s hand into the crook of his arm as they turned away from the Silver Queen and began making their way up Harrison.

  It was two thirty in the morning, but it could have been ten at night for the press of people still out and about. The crackling of firecrackers and stray pops and booms of guns and black powder had lessened considerably. Still, Inez wagered that many folks in Leadville were not getting their full measure of sleep that night, even with nightcaps pulled down around their ears and their heads under feather pillows.

  She pulled the collar of her cloak tight to keep the cold from seeping down the back of her neck. “We had a pretty good night, all in all. We pulled in a decent amount from the bar. And the usual game went well.” She leaned against him as she walked, feeling the solidness of his arm tight against her side. “Even Jed behaved himself. Well, mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  She described Doc and Jed’s haranguing, Preston and Reuben’s short visit to the game room, and Reuben’s triumphant departure. “The consensus at the table was that Reuben proceeded to celebrate at Frisco Flo’s,” she concluded.

  “Mmm-hmmn.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What does that sound mean?”

  “I u
nderstand Flo’s offering special discounts to veterans of the war. A patriotic gesture in honor of the holiday.”

  “You understand? Does that mean Madam Flo had the poor taste to extend said offer to you?” She heard the snap in her tone, but didn’t care. She started to move away.

  The reverend covered her gloved hand with his own, holding it in place. “Sometimes, Mrs. Stannert, you’re as prickly as a porcupine rattling its quills.” He stopped speaking while they walked past the Board of Trade Saloon. Its requisite brass band was braying loud enough to drown out all sound from the streets.

  As soon as her ears stopped ringing, Inez said, “Are you going to tell me you went to preach to Flo and the girls on one of their busiest nights of the year? What humbug.”

  “‘O ye of little faith.’ Matthew 8:26. Flo and her women haven’t been to church for over a month. I stopped by to remind them that the mission will soon be open and that they’re also welcome at Sunday services.”

  “Welcome.” Inez gave a short laugh. “I’d say the majority of parishioners are a whole lot less welcoming than you are. So, were the Holts there? Did Reuben celebrate his birthday at the whorehouse?”

  “I don’t see what it matters, either way.”

  She twisted her mouth shut. Truly, what business is it of mine? It’s not as if I care. But the image that flashed through her mind was not of Reuben, lounging in Flo’s Turkish-appointed parlor, but of Preston Holt.

  She pushed the image away with a guilty mental shove and focused instead on the closeness of the reverend’s body to hers as they finished walking the few short blocks to her home.

  Taking the two steps up to her little porch, she fished her key out of her pocket. Another low boom echoed from the hills of the mining district. “They’ll have nothing left to celebrate with tomorrow, much less fire off at work Monday morning,” she remarked, unlocking the door.

  “I expect most will be out of town for the Fourth. The races. Picnics. Sure you won’t join us?”

  “Hard to say.” She entered and put the key on the small end table. “Oh, I almost forgot to mention. Weston came by tonight. He caused quite a scene in front of the saloon. Doc showed up and took him to the jail. Said he’d be safe there.”

  Sands muttered something under his breath as he shed his hat and coat and hung them on the coatrack.

  “What?”

  “I said I’ve got little patience left for Weston Croy. I know that’s not right. ‘In your patience you will possess your soul.’ Luke 21:18. I’ll be back in a minute.” He headed toward the kitchen. She heard the rear door squeak as he went out.

  Inez wandered into her small parlor and turned to the sidebar. She ran a hand over the brandy decanter, still half full, debating, before turning away and advancing on her piano. She picked up the soft gray shawl draped over her piano stool and wrapped it around her shoulders. Sitting on the stool, Inez loosened the laces of her shoes, kicked them off under the piano, and set her stockinged feet upon the cool metal of the foot pedals. Idly, she paged through a stack of sheet music until, about a third of the way down, “La Campanella” surfaced.

  Liszt.

  Her mother’s face swam into memory, looking as it had nearly twenty years ago. Her hazel eyes shone, her face alive with unaccustomed energy as she described watching Franz Liszt play in France. “The God of the piano. That’s what they called him in Portugal, Inez. I’ll never forget watching him play “La Campanella.” It was a highlight of my Grand Tour, before I met your father.”

  Entranced, Inez had asked her mother to play it for her.

  Her mother threw back her head and gave one of her rare laughs. “Oh Inez, my child. It’s not a piece I would ever attempt. It’s far too difficult.”

  All of eleven years old, Inez rose to the challenge. “Someday, then, I’ll learn to play it, Mama. And I’ll play it for you.”

  Her mother frowned. The animation fled her face, leaving the stern expression so familiar to Inez. “It’s not an appropriate piece for a woman—or, in your case, a girl—to play. Liszt composed for the masculine pianist. The intervals, the agility and accuracy required…it’s beyond feminine capabilities. Practice your Mendelssohn, Inez. When you’re ready for something more difficult, we’ll move on to Chopin.”

  As soon as she could after leaving home, Inez bought Liszt’s “Grandes Etudes de Paganini.” And no matter what she’d left behind later—possessions, precepts, and principles discarded during the tumultuous decade of traveling with Mark—she’d stayed faithful to Liszt. And Chopin, and Mendelssohn.

  In the parlor silvered with moonlight, she set the music on the stand, lifted the keyboard lid, set her fingers on the keys, and flexed her feet on the pedals.

  Measures five through thirteen were difficult. The grace notes in measure fourteen made it even worse. She hesitated over the fingering and returned again and again to the quick two-octave jumps, her frustration mounting over each stumbled phrase or clashing note.

  The reverend’s voice came from behind her. “That doesn’t sound like music to relax by.” His hands settled on her shoulders.

  The tension, which had been mounting up her shoulder blades and into her neck, melted under his touch. She tried the leaps again, slowly, concentrating on delivering the fingers from one chord to the other, like birds taking flight from one tree to another.

  “I’ve not had much time to practice,” she said. “No time, actually. And I’ll never learn to play this if I don’t work on it.”

  “How long have you been practicing?”

  “Nigh on twelve years.” She switched mid-measure, leaving Liszt behind, sliding into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”

  Slow, liquid notes rippled, waves in a pond.

  Sands caressed her neck. She allowed her eyelids to close halfway. The music and his touch washed away the tightness in her stomach, the burning in her eyes, the sadness in her soul. A sweet ache stirred deep inside.

  His fingers curled into her hair, taking hold, pulling her head gently back.

  He bent over to kiss her throat. Her mouth.

  The chords beneath her hands died, the last note drifting into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I hope they keep him locked up through the Fourth and beyond.” Inez stood at the saloon’s Harrison Avenue doors, cup of coffee in hand, and looked north up the street toward the jail.

  All manner of four-wheeled conveyances filled the street, carrying families, church and social groups, and every proper young woman in Leadville to day trip destinations like Twin Lakes, Soda Springs, and the Mount Massive Hotel. Parasol fringe fluttered, whips cracked, babies cried, and picnic baskets and blankets jostled on the laps of passengers as wheels bumped over the street’s hardened ridges of baked mud. Men on horseback wove through the wagons and buggies, the younger fellows shouting and showing off for the women, who clung to the seats, lace handkerchiefs held to noses to block out the dust.

  “My God,” she said to herself. “Isn’t anyone staying in town?”

  “Sure.” Abe came and stood beside her, drying his hands on his apron. “When the Fairplays come this afternoon, we’ll be jumpin’. None of the theaters are open today, so we’ll be the only game in town.” He followed Inez’s gaze. “Who’s in jail?”

  “Weston Croy.” She went back inside and liberated a bottle of whiskey from the backbar. “Let’s go to the office for a moment. I need to talk with you before I start balancing the books.”

  Upstairs, Inez unlocked the office door. The saloon’s cat, a calico that preferred soaking up the sun to hunting rodents, squeezed past her skirts to claim a warm spot on the braided rug.

  Inez sat at the desk and brushed the orange and black cat hairs from her dark blue skirts. “The cat is shedding dreadfully. A clear sign that winter’s finally over. For a month or two.”

  Abe lowered himself to the sofa, knees creaking. “That Weston fellow’s bothering you some, sounds like
.”

  “More than some.”

  Abe listened gravely as she related her previous encounters with Weston.

  “He thinks, at least sometimes, that he’s still in the war,” Inez finished.

  “Man sounds outta control.”

  “Reverend Sands tried to help Weston for a while. But it seems now as if he’s washed his hands of him.”

  “That’s right. Your reverend was a Union man.” Abe leaned back on the settee.

  “Like you.”

  Abe hmmphed. “Partly. At the start of the war, I was wearin’ the gray.”

  Inez stared. “You fought for both sides? But…why? What were you doing on the side of the Confederacy?”

  Abe shrugged. “I was a free man, like my pappy. When the call came, I joined the Louisiana Native Guards. Mostly, I was protectin’ my home, the home of my family. And protectin’ our property too, there was that. There was thinkin’ among the colored that everything we had might just get taken away if we didn’t step forward. I was defendin’ Louisiana, didn’t give a hang for the Confederacy. When New Orleans was occupied by Federal troops, they called for free colored to join the Union Army, and—” Abe spread his hands— “plenty of familiar faces from the original Guards started wearin’ blue. It was a long time ago, Inez. My point is, lots of men saw hard times. Your reverend, I’m guessin’ he prob’ly was in the thick of things. Most, like him, just put it behind them as best they could. Some, like this Weston, just didn’t have the spine to see it through.”

  Inez set her coffee on the ledger. The ledger made her think of the columns of numbers—income one side, charges on the other, and how the charges could deplete, bleed a business dry, until there was nothing left. If a man saw too much, was too much in the red, maybe there just was no way for him to come back into balance.

  “I wonder what happened that he ended up like this,” Inez said to herself.