Iron Ties

by Ann Parker

  “You must miss him a great deal.” Susan sounded sympathetic.

  “Hmmm.” Inez stared at the handwriting—firm, precise.

  Handwriting.

  “Ah! I’ve got it!” she exclaimed.

  “Got what?”

  “A way to find out who he really is! Susan, I have to go. I will be back later. You know, you might consider having Miss O’Loughlin come help out until they catch Weston. She’s not teaching yet and might enjoy being here with all the pageantry. Aren’t the bands and such going to be marching and counter-marching on the streets tomorrow, getting ready?”

  “Yes! That’s true! Thank you, Inez. An excellent idea.”

  Inez hurried to the saloon and rushed past Abe. “I will be back shortly.”

  “Well, if you’re runnin’ around town you might take a look at what the competition is putting up,” said Abe, holding a ladder steady for Sol. The bartender was nailing a banner above the Harrison Avenue door that read, “The Silver Queen Welcomes the Citizen of Appomattox!”

  Inez dashed upstairs and rummaged through her desk for Eli’s letters. She pulled out the one from the schoolmaster and retraced her steps to the mercantile.

  Evan was supervising the winding of red-white-and-blue streamers around the columns inside his store. He hastened over to Inez, adjusting his steel-rimmed glasses. “Hello, Mrs. Stannert. Are you in need of more streamers?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Mr. Duncan’s bill of trade. Do you still have it?”

  “Of course.” Giving her a curious look, he disappeared into the back office, reappearing a few minutes later with the paper in hand.

  “I just want to see.” She put the list with Duncan’s signature on the countertop and laid the letter by its side.

  Evan craned his neck to see. “Looks like a letter from Duncan.”

  “I do believe that’s the case.” Inez was not staring at the signature, identical on both sheets of paper, but at the list of items the professor had traded for his mining outfit. She felt faint. “Is this what he brought in to trade?”

  “Yes indeed.” Evan turned the list around. “Most of it, not worth much. However that Whitworth rifle, he could’ve gotten a small fortune for it. Even has the original telescope. But he was in a hurry, not interested in bargaining. I’ll probably sell it for several times what I traded for it. The Confederate sharpshooters used them to great advantage in the war. Mrs. Stannert, you look pale.” Evan hurried around the counter. “Can I get you a chair? A glass of water?”

  “I’ll be all right.” She scanned the rest of the list. “He sold his boots?”

  “Needed something sturdier. Those town shoes weren’t going to get him far. I figured I’d take them in trade, polish out the scuffs—”

  “Can I see them?”

  “See his boots?” Evan wrinkled his brow.

  “Yes. Please.”

  He shrugged. Went into the back of the store, and returned with a pair of boots which he plunked on the counter. “Haven’t spiffed them up yet.”

  The right toe box held a single deep gouge.

  The professor. He took the rifle from under Preston’s bunk. I didn’t notice an accent. But then, it’s not always there.

  She stuffed the letter back in the envelope. “Thank you. Did Mr. Duncan return for the rest of his outfit?”

  “Not yet.” Evan picked up the boots and the bill of trade. “But he showed up at the magazine for the giant powder and fuse. I sure hope he’s got a place to store it where the temperature is stable. Otherwise, he’s going to have fireworks to compete with the ones arranged for the general’s arrival.”

  “The general.” She stared at Evan. She thought of the note written to Eli about the coming of the general.

  But when that was written, all anyone knew about was General Palmer. Unless. Could Grant and Palmer have been discussing a visit to Colorado? Before Doc or any of the Leadville committee knew about it? And who would have been privy to that information, if not the clerk for the Rio Grande lawyer in charge of right-of-way through Leadville. The clerk who carried correspondence between Rio Grande managers in Leadville and the Rio Grande board. So, Hiram, the professor, and probably Reuben. They knew. But why try to kill me? And what has Delaney’s death to do with this, if anything…and did Reuben kill him?

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Inez chafed as thirty precious hours slipped by like a rushing mountain stream between Tuesday morning and Wednesday evening.

  Newcomers were pouring into town—from out of the mountains, nearby settlements, and even from Denver—brought in by news of Grant’s impending arrival. They disembarked at Malta from the twice-daily trains and took carriages or wagons or trusted their own two feet to deliver them to Leadville.

  They arrived dusty, thirsty, and hungry to find all hotels full, long waits at the restaurants, and little elbow room at the bars. Business owners realized they had a seller’s market and priced goods and services accordingly.

  After Inez wrangled a last-minute deal with a local liquor wholesaler, she kept Sol busy all day Wednesday taking inventory on the deliveries and stacking crates and kegs nearly to the storeroom ceiling. He tucked the overflow into the kitchen corners, much to Bridgette’s dismay.

  The kitchen was hot as Hades on Wednesday, what with Bridgette’s non-stop baking and cooking as she attempted to stay ahead of the demand. She flitted around the scorching stove, uncharacteristically flustered. She burned two batches of biscuits and barely salvaged an oven’s worth of peach pies.

  “Lands, Mrs. Stannert.” She wiped the sweat streaming from her face. “My thoughts just keep on wandering. Did you know that my late husband, Mr. O’Malley—God bless him—fought in the war? I’m thinking more on those years now, what with the general coming. We were newlyweds, the two of us. Oh, how Mr. O’Malley would go on about General Grant. He thought the world of him. I hope to get a peek while he’s in town.”

  Inez was also distracted, mainly by all the questions and worries crowding her mind, bubbling away like Bridgette’s bottomless stewpot. She poured the wrong liquor more than once throughout the day, and even caught herself providing an inferior grade of bourbon to a visiting toff who had asked, rather snidely, for “the best you have to offer.”

  She snatched the drink back before he quaffed it and gave him the better brand, snapping, “Wouldn’t want you to think that’s the best the Silver Queen has in the house.”

  When they locked up that night, Inez asked Abe if he’d walk her home.

  “Sure thing. Seems like you’ve a powerful lot on your mind, judging by today. And tomorrow’s shaping up even busier. The town’s bustin’ at the seams.”

  Abe and Inez stood outside the door for a moment, watching the men pass by, many of them with the desperate look of no place to sleep that night.

  Abe continued, “We could rent space on the saloon floor, the next few nights. Sol and I could take turns stayin’ in. We’d do well at a dollar a head.”

  “If you think so.”

  Abe looked at her. “Sounds like your mind’s not entirely on business, judgin’ by the lukewarm reception of my surefire idea. So what’s botherin’ you, Mrs. Stannert?”

  They started walking up Harrison. Slowly, because of the crush of people.

  “I’m feeling more and more uneasy about Grant’s visit. There’s something afoot, but I can’t pin it down. Remember Delaney, the railroad man who held the gun on Taps and started the whole ruckus last week?”

  “Not likely to forget that.”

  “Well, despite all the noises McMurtrie made, Delaney wasn’t fired. He’s not a section boss for the construction crew anymore, but some kind of camp guard. I bumped into him Saturday night when I went looking for Preston—I mean, Mr. Holt. Then, on Sunday, when I was returning from my outing with Mr. Holt, the professor caught up with us outside of town. He’s the railroad clerk I introduced to Jed Elliston, the one working for Lowden Snow, the
Rio Grande’s right-of-way lawyer. Well, the professor told Mr. Holt that Delaney’d been murdered. And that Reuben—the young fellow, Mr. Holt’s nephew, actually—had disappeared. I fear what happened to Eli Carter is tied to all this. Preston—I mean, Mr. Holt—said he’d be back to talk to me about what’s going on. But I’ve yet to see him. It’s been two days, and I’d think—”

  “Lord, Inez. You lost me on that road somewheres at the start.”

  “I feel like that too, sometimes. That I’m riding down a road on a cloudy night. Every once in a while, the moon peeks through, and I see a landmark, a glimmer, and I think I know where I’m headed. Then it all goes dark again.”

  When they reached Fourth Street, Inez sighed. “Would you mind if we walked up Harrison a bit further? If I can better explain what I think is going on, you might have some insights. Oh, I wish Reverend Sands were here!”

  “You do?” There was a note of skepticism in Abe’s voice.

  “I have a sneaking suspicion he’s embroiled in this. He’s doing something for Palmer and the railroad, I believe. He wasn’t very specific.” With a twinge, she remembered how she’d cut that conversation short. “He sent me a short letter from Colorado Springs, saying he’d be coming back with Grant and Palmer. I wonder—” She stopped on the boardwalk. Turned to Abe. “Wait. What did you mean by that tone of voice?”

  “Yep, you’re definitely distracted. Otherwise you’d of snapped back at me a whole lot quicker.” Abe took another step, urging her to continue walking.

  They had left the gaslights behind and were nearly at the foot of Capitol Hill. The crowds had thinned considerably, and the city noise as well. Inez became aware of the gurgling sound of water in the ditch nearby.

  “I’m wonderin’, between Preston—I mean, Mr. Holt.” He gently mimicked her. “And the reverend, which one you’re hopin’ to see first.”

  “That’s not…I don’t want to talk about it.” Or think about it.

  “Yes. Ma’am.” Abe looked down Ninth, little more than a dirt path with a few houses dotted along its length. “Just seems, you’re not doin’ yourself or them any favors by hedging your bets.”

  “I am not—”

  A gunshot echoed off the nearby hills. Followed by a second. And a third.

  A figure was running down Ninth toward them, shouting and waving.

  Inez became aware of the sharp smell of acrid wood smoke, just before she heard the dreaded shout, “Fire!”

  A cluster of men approaching from Capitol Hill stopped talking. Someone hollered back, “Where?”

  The fellow stopped in the intersection, panting, hands on knees. “Twelfth and Poplar! Someone’s going for a fire alarm box, but we need all the help we can get. The horses….”

  The horses!

  Electric fear coursed through Inez. She clutched Abe’s arm. “The livery!”

  “C&H Livery, that’s the one,” gasped the runner. “I’ve got to get more men.” He headed down Harrison at a trot, fired his pistol again, shouting, “Fire! Up on Twelfth!”

  The central fire bell downtown began to ring an alarm, its clangs echoing over the city, telegraphing the fire’s location to the volunteer firemen.

  “Lucy!” Inez set out at a dead run up Ninth toward Poplar.

  Abe, wheezing, caught up. “Inez! Easy! We’ll get there. Won’t help if we break our necks doing it.”

  She could see the strange otherworldly glow cast by unseen flames and the flickering of bright yellow tongues skyward.

  They ran on, saving breath for speed. The smell of burning wood, leather, oats, hair, and, most ominously, flesh filled their lungs and the midnight air.

  They arrived at the livery, a scene of shouting men, screaming horses, and ghastly orange and yellow flames licking up the back and roof of the structure. Thick smoke roiled up into the dark sky and down into the street.

  Men dashed into the livery, emerging with horses, mules, dragging tack and the occasional cart or carriage.

  The first of the volunteer fire companies had arrived and were battling the flames as best they could with buckets and hoses. Inez saw shadowy figures with shovels dash behind the structure to dig a firebreak.

  Inez pushed through the crowd only to be driven back by a policeman trying to maintain order.

  “My horse!” she screamed at him.

  “All the ones that are getting out alive are got!” he shouted back. “Over there!” He pointed up Twelfth, away from the fire.

  Inez pelted up and around the corner to find a melee of frightened horses and mules. Those with halters or ropes were tied to trees, stumps, fence posts, wagons, whatever was stationary and available. A nearby corral held a few more—but still, the total was much less than the original population. The smell of burnt hair and seared flesh was strong. Men moved among the terrified animals, covering eyes with water-soaked shirts, feed sacks, odd bits of material to keep them from spooking further. Some of the animals had horse blankets and sacks on their backs as protection from flying cinders.

  Inez searched the street, staying a careful distance from the hooves of still panicked animals. The light from the flames glossed their coats, highlighted the occasional rolling eye, threw long crazy shadows everywhere.

  Then, secured to a picket fence, a familiar shape emerged, a black shadow in the darkness, blanket on her back.

  “Lucy!” Inez fell upon her horse.

  Lucy started, then calmed, still trembling, at Inez’s touch and voice.

  “Thank God,” Inez whispered fervently. “You’re safe!”

  Lucy’s lathered coat steamed into the cool night air. Inez squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears in as she stroked Lucy’s muzzle, her quivering neck and withers. Inez’s hand moved to the blanket on Lucy’s back—and stopped.

  A tactile memory emerged.

  Loose woven cloth, sliding through fingers.

  Inez opened her eyes. In the flickering demon light of the burning livery, she saw a flag of the Confederacy spread across Lucy’s back. Inez ran her hand over it again, as if in a dream.

  “You’re damn lucky, Mrs. Stannert,” Hollis bellowed in her ear. “You can thank Jack for savin’ your horse, when he mighta saved—” He stopped. “So that’s where it went!” And tried to yank the flag off Lucy’s back.

  “No!” Inez grabbed hold of the cloth, prepared for a tug-of-war.

  “No? Whaddya mean ‘No!’? Goddamned Rio Grande. First they destroy my haulin’ business. Then they burn my livery to the ground ’cause of the right-of-way. Oh, mebbe not Snow hisself, but you can bet your ass he gave the order! Bet they think I’ll give up now, sell out, and crawl away. Hell, they don’t know shit about Texans! Damn ’em t’ hell for burnin’ my building, killin’ my mules and horses that never did no one no harm!”

  Stunned, Inez realized that Hollis’ face, streaked with soot, was also streaked with tears.

  “Bastards! Every one of ’em!” he roared. “If I see Snow, I’ll cut off his ears. And you will damn well let go of my flag!”

  “Hollis!” she roared back. “I don’t want your damn flag! I need to borrow it until tomorrow, to see, to see…Hollis! Did Eli ever talk about a brotherhood? Bound by the flag or pieces of it?”

  Hollis stopped pulling. His face, mottled by shadows of the dying flames, went slack with shock. Then, his mouth clamped shut under his singed mustache. His eyes narrowed.

  And he said, “Oh. Hell.”

  Chapter Fifty

  “Did the big fire wake you last night, Mrs. Stannert?” Sol greeted Inez as she dragged into the Silver Queen early Thursday morning. “First that, with the alarm and all. Then, the guns early this morning, so everyone could rise and shine to prepare for the big day. Sunrise came awfully fast after last night.”

  Inez’s eyes felt as if river sand had been ground into them. Pebbles and all. She wasn’t about to tell Sol that her lack of sleep had nothing to do with Grant’s arrival that day, and all to
do with the fire, and then with the questions and fears that plagued her. One of the foremost being: How can I reach Preston Holt if he doesn’t come into town? I’ll never find him if I go riding about. And I can’t do that anyway. Not today.

  She’d been out of the saloon far too much of late and was determined to pull her own weight on this, what was bound to be one of the busiest days of the year. No matter what. She just hoped that her upcoming conversation with Hollis would yield some hard answers and the time to deal with them.

  “I counted thirty-eight guns in that salute,” Sol said in an unbearably cheerful tone. One for each state in the Union. I heard they’re going to fire a thirteen-gun salute at noon, and one hundred and one when he arrives.”

  Inez pressed a palm against her pounding forehead, wondering how she was going to survive the barrage of salutatory gunfire scheduled for the day.

  “Since you and Mr. Jackson are here, I’ll get busy outside hanging the last banner over the door and nailing fir boughs around the frame. I could put some bunting above the windows maybe, and—”

  “Sol, I know you’ll do us proud.” She clutched Hollis’ folded-up flag in her arms, anxious to get upstairs.

  Sol went outside, then popped back in before the door stopped swinging. “That your horse out there at the hitchrack?”

  “Yes. She was in the livery that burned last night. I want to keep her nearby for just a while. I’ll need to check whether the livery around the corner has room for her. If you’d just keep an eye on her, let me know if she gets nervous. Oh! And the livery owner, Bart Hollis, will be by soon. He’s bringing my tack. What’s left of it. Please send him up to the office.”

  “Sure thing.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and told Abe she’d be upstairs. Once in the office, she looked around for a place to unfold the flag. It didn’t seem proper to put it on the floor, so she draped it over the office’s loveseat. The edging, which could have been tan or a very dirty or faded orange, paraded around the outside of the flag. Its red field was slashed with a diagonal cross of blue, edged in white. Three white stars marched along each of the four arms, a single star in the intersection. This symbol of the attempted secession of the thirteen states seemed part of a past that had eluded her entirely. My parents never talked about the war. At least, in front of Harmony and me. What a sheltered life we led. I was just a chit of a girl. It all seemed so distant. Stories in the newspapers. Popular songs. But nothing to do with me.