Authors: Ann Parker
Abe stuffed his bare hands into the armpits of his coat. "I can’t keep goin’ through this with you. I’m not your father. And I’m not," he took a deep breath, "your husband."
"We’re partners," Inez whispered. "We’re friends."
Abe shook his head. "I can’t take bein’ yanked up, down, and sideways with your problems. I’m worn out. Besides, I’ve got needs too. You get my drift? Bein’ with you, Inez, the lines get blurred. Are we friends? Well, sometimes, the way you look at me or brush against my arm…It’s too damn confusing."
Inez clutched the porch railing, trying to assimilate his words. The livery driver, not twenty feet away, puffed studiously on his pipe, gazing at the distant mountains.
Abe continued, "Now Angel, she’s good for me, and I’m good for her."
Inez turned back. He looked at her, steady. "I didn’t bring this up before today, thinkin’ first, it wasn’t your business anyhow and second…well, I just didn’t know how we’d weather that storm. But if you and I are business partners,
friends
, then you gotta accept her and give me some breathin’ room." He finally moved away from the steps. "I’m done. Said all I’m goin’ to say."
Past ghosts and present pressures crowded around her on the porch. A woman with a small child and two men in ragged overcoats walked past, eyeing them curiously.
"Abe, I can’t think on all this right now. Sands said some of the same things."
Abe raised his eyebrows. "The man just rose a mite in my estimation."
"But I must tell you about this coney business. Hollis as much as said that he knows about you and Mark, your past. He’s working for Harry to uncover the ring in Leadville. Before he left, Hollis gave me a chance to ‘confess’ and avoid arrest."
Abe raised his eyebrows further.
"I told him that there’s nothing to confess. Angel," she nodded toward Abe’s house, "knows something about Joe Rose. She gave me his pocketwatch at the soiree, and I’ll bet you a dollar to a dime she wrote the note inside that said ‘Joe knows.’ Last night, I found bundles of counterfeit inside Joey’s rocking horse. It’s a lot, Abe. Thousands. I turned it over to Cooke this morning, figuring it’d prove we were innocent."
She picked up her carpetbag. "After I spoke with Sands, I went home. Someone had broken into my house. No dead rats, but Joey’s horse was smashed. They left a note, threatening Joey and saying they ‘want it all.’ The only ones I told about the horse and the counterfeit are Cooke and Sands."
"Jesus, Inez. You gotta tell Hollis."
"I don’t trust him. You’re the only one I’m telling this to. I’m not dragging Bat into this mess either." She looked hard at Abe. He shrugged, as much as admitting that the thought had crossed his mind.
"I’m leaving for Denver with Joey tomorrow. I’ll find a way out besides the usual coaches. Do the best you can with the saloon. As for the other business," she started to put a hand on his arm, then drew back. "I didn’t realize I’d dragged you so deep into my troubles. I never meant to…confuse you. I’ll think on what you said. You consider my words as well. Angel knows something. If she can clear the Roses— and us, I might add—maybe she will. For your sake, if no one else’s."
When Bridgette opened the door, her face went from welcome to worry in a flash. "Arriving with shotgun and luggage, ma’am? And looking very peaked. Come in, come in. The boys are having supper."
"Bridgette, I must ask some favors of you." Inez stepped into the sudden comfort of the cabin. Curtains across the one large room divided sleeping from living areas. Along one side of a long, rough-hewn table, four tow-headed boys sat from tallest to smallest, like notes descending a scale. Joey’s dark hair provided the closing note at the end of the line. Joey dropped his spoon and raced over to grab Inez’s iced-up coat in a hug.
Inez set gun and bag down and hugged him back while addressing Bridgette. "Joey and I need a place to sleep tonight. If we could take a spot on your floor—"
"Joey can sleep with the two youngest. You take my bed."
"Oh no, I couldn’t."
Bridgette bustled to the stove. "Ma’am, you’ve kept a roof over our heads and food on the table. So, not another word. Now, what else?"
Inez led Joey back to his seat before joining Bridgette. "This is a little more difficult." Inez lowered her voice, glancing at the boys. Spoons rose and fell from bowls to mouths. Five sets of blue eyes regarded her. "I need a driver with a sleigh. Someone who knows the roads out of town and who can leave before dawn tomorrow. I’ll pay well, but he must keep his mouth shut."
Bridgette stared, a half-filled bowl of soup forgotten in her hand. "Leaving town in this weather? Where would you be going?"
"Bridgette, the less I tell you the better. This way, if anyone asks where I am, you can honestly say you don’t know."
Bridgette tapped her ladle on the iron stove, thinking. "Finding a man who knows the roads, now, that’s not hard. They all need the money. It’s finding someone who won’t drink it all up and start a-wagging his tongue." She brightened as her eldest brought in a blast of cold air and an armload of firewood. "Michael, fetch Mr. McMillan. Tell him there’s the prospect of a good paying run from town." She addressed Inez. "He’s your man. Hard-working, sober. Wife’s been poorly for months, he can use every penny."
"Thank you, Bridgette. One last thing—paper and pencil?"
Fortified with writing tools and a scrap of paper, Inez pushed the soup bowl aside. She twisted the double rings on her left hand, pondering what to say and how to say it. She finally picked up the stubby pencil and wrote:
Dearest Emma,
If you’re reading this, it means our prayers have been answered and you are recovering from your trials. I have Joey with me. I promise to protect him with my life and bring him back to you, safe and sound.
Affectionately, Inez
She wrote slowly, thinking that anything addressed to Emma would reach Reverend Sands, and probably Harry and Hollis. Inez sealed the note in an envelope, wishing she could say something more to calm a mother’s fears.
"Bridgette, I need this delivered to Mrs. Rose when she’s better. Or you can give it to Abe or Susan Carothers. No one else."
"Not even," Bridgette dangled the envelope between thumb and forefinger as if it were scalding, "the reverend, ma’am?"
"Especially not him." She picked up her spoon.
Bridgette looked crestfallen.
Michael returned, snow on his hat and shoulders, along with Mr. McMillan, a man so tall he had to stoop under the lintel. Inside, he remained slightly bent as if constantly wary of banging his head on low ceilings.
After quick introductions, Inez said, "We’d best talk outside."
Once the door closed behind them, Inez continued, "Mrs. O’Malley says you can be trusted to be discreet. I need to get to Georgetown tomorrow."
"A-yep." McMillan scraped a thumb across his bearded cheek. "Take me two days. One t’get you there, another to get meself back. Cost you a pretty penny, as I’ve nothing to haul down right now. Can always find folks in Georgetown heading to Leadville, though. You’ve trunks? Household goods?"
"Just me, a boy, and a carpetbag."
He nodded, as if accustomed to women fleeing Leadville with little more than the clothes on their backs. "Traveling light, we’ll make good time. We leave five in the morning, you can probably catch the last Georgetown train to Denver. Denver’s your destination?"
She sidestepped his question. "Be here at four thirty, then. I need to make a stop on our way out of town."
Later, she sat on the edge of the "small boys" bed to say goodnight to Joey. Lying head to toe like sardines gave the three a little extra turning room. Joey, being a guest, got the foot of the bed to himself.
Joey’s eyes were dark in the lamplight. "Where are we going, Auntie?"
She smoothed his hair. "We’re going to take a sleigh and then a train."
"If we don’t say goodbye Mama won’t know where we are." Joey’s lower lip trembled.
"I wrote her a note. It’s just a short trip, Joey. Then we’ll come back."
He yawned. "Will you read me more about the angel wars?"
Inez opened
Paradise Lost
at the ribbon and whispered Satan’s first words to Beelzebub in a Hell where fire shed not light, but dark: "If thou beest hee; But O how fall’n! how chang’d/From him, who in the happy Realms of Light/Cloth’d with transcendent brightness didst outshine/ Myriads though bright…"
999
It was pitch dark when McMillan arrived with a sleigh pulled by two sturdy bays. It was one of the few times that Inez was grateful for Leadville’s "get-go," twenty-four-hours-a-day style. With the main streets overflowing with pre-dawn traffic, they were just one more nondescript vehicle.
She directed McMillan to wait at the corner of Harrison and State. "I’ll be five minutes." She tucked the buffalo robe around Joey. "This will be a great adventure, Joey." She tried to sound encouraging.
She unlocked the front door of the Silver Queen and entered, shotgun in hand. The place appeared deserted. Inez hurried upstairs to the office.
Opening the safe in the near dark, she took out two envelopes: one held Mattie Silks’ letter and brass check, the other held Angel’s note and the silver key from the rocking horse. She pulled out the two bundles of counterfeit, then counted out two hundred in hard money from the saloon’s cash reserve and tucked money and envelopes into the pockets hidden in the lining of her travel coat. Finally, from the safe’s depths, she pulled out the two bags of rocks liberated from Chet’s samples.
After securing the safe, she debated leaving her shotgun under the bar with the office key. When he saw the gun, Abe would know she’d found a way out of town.
At the top of the stairs Inez stopped, thinking that she’d heard something besides her own footsteps. She waited. Listening.
Nothing but the usual street noise, honky-tonk music, and inarticulate shouts.
Then, a thump. Almost beneath her feet.
The cat jumping off a box?
Inez padded silently downstairs and into the kitchen. A weak light escaped from the open doorway of the storeroom. She set the sample bags down, breathing fast and shallow as she tried to identify the sounds: Wood scraped on wood, a heavy footstep.
She set her finger on the trigger and swung around the doorframe.
"Useless!"
Useless, crouched behind a row of crates, turned.
They stared at each other. In the weak lamplight, his eyes glittered, feral, cornered. When he spoke, however, it was just Useless, stuttering and nearly inarticulate. "Muh— Muh—Mrs. Stannert. What’re you doing here?"