Silver Lies Read online

  Footsteps on the stairs recalled her to the present. She buttoned her gloves, addressing the door behind her. "I’m just about ready to go."

  Her heart leaped to her throat when she heard Reverend Sands reply, "I was hoping we could talk first."

  She turned and saw him, hands behind his back, the military man waiting to be recognized. The moon picked out the silver loop of his watch chain. She turned back to the window. "Abe let you in?"

  "And left with his lovely wife. If you want an escort home, I’m it."

  Silence.

  "I’ve been waiting. Almost two months now. A long time."

  Silence.

  She heard him step forward. "Inez?"

  "I understand Mrs. DuBois sold all her holdings to buy legal counsel for herself and Llewellyn." Inez touched the glass, so cold she could feel it through her calfskin glove. "Turns out, she’d bought Nils Hansen’s claim using Joe Rose as go-between. And other claims as well." She shook her head. "Poor Nils. He was probably embarrassed beyond belief to discover his ‘secret buyer’ was a State Street madam."

  He spoke from behind her. "Llewellyn escaped custody in Denver."

  "So I heard. You don’t sound upset."

  "I don’t work for the Secret Service anymore. If I did, and I’d been the operative making the collar, I’d be upset."

  "But since you work for Harry, it’s different."

  Sands sighed. "My agreement with Harry was to break the ring in Leadville. I also told him I’d not take a single life in the process. That part of me was finished, I thought. Spiritual arrogance on my part. As a wise man once said, ‘To thine own self be true.’ We can’t accept some parts of the self and toss out the rest."

  "Shakespeare," Inez said half to herself. "That’s from Hamlet, not scripture."

  "Truth comes in many forms." Another step. "That night, when Llewellyn told us what Useless planned to do to you…I went to the workshop ready to kill him."

  Inez traced a pattern of frost down the pane. "That night, Mrs. DuBois said you’d been a frequent visitor."

  "Mrs. DuBois counterfeited truths to suit her needs. Yes, I visited. To listen, to observe. You and I, we unraveled the same mystery by different paths. You, through Joe Rose, me, through Harry."

  "Harry. The Secret Service. There’s a lot I don’t know about you."

  "And a lot I don’t know about you. But we could change that. Inez," another step forward, "a delegation from the church has asked me to stay."

  "Interim minister offered permanent post. Isn’t that… irregular?"

  "Opportunities presented are often not those one expects." He cleared his throat. "However, there’s only one reason I would stay in Leadville."

  She finally faced him. "Three months ago, I’d have sworn that my husband was dead. But now…Mark may be alive. In Denver. Somewhere."

  Sands frowned, considering. "Have you heard from him?"

  "No."

  "Has someone said that, without a doubt, they’ve seen him?"

  "No."

  "What would you do if he walked through the door, right now?"

  Inez thought. "Three months ago, I would have screamed, swore, thrown a few things. Then," she smiled ruefully, "forgiven him, I suppose. But now…I don’t know. Too much has changed."

  Reverend Sands was quiet a moment, then said, "I’m willing to take those odds."

  "Odds." She shook her head. "In our first conversation, I accused you of being a professional gambler. Is that also part of your deep dark past?"

  "I remember that meeting. I came to your house, angry that you hadn’t notified me about Joe Rose’s death. I was immediately charmed by your green-striped stockings. I thought, any woman who would answer the door wearing those stockings and no shoes was worth pursuing. So, Inez, shall we take a gamble? Start over, go slower this time?"

  Inez turned and pressed her forehead against the window pane. The cold sank in, chilling her to the back of her bare neck. She closed her eyes and spoke slowly. "I can’t promise anything, Justice."

  "I’m not asking for promises. Just for a chance."

  A loud crash out on State startled the street into silence. In the lull of drunken hoots and traffic noise, Inez heard a piano, backed by a brass band, swing into a waltz. The clamor

  returned, but the music rose above it.

  "Inez." Sands voice was soft, pleading. "Dance with me."

  She opened her eyes and turned around.

  Shadows of large, flat snowflakes poured over the far wall, the loveseat, the reverend, and his outstretched hands.

  He waited.

  Inez moved at last. Placed one hand on his shoulder, the other hand in his. He held her by the waist. Close, but with room to breathe.

  Inez and Reverend Sands danced slowly, without words, shadows of falling snow cascading over them and the bright and silent room.

  Author’s Note

  First of all, there really is a Leadville, Colorado. You can drive there and experience it for yourself. Quick directions: go up I-70 from Denver into the Rockies, take a left at Copper Mountain, and follow the signs.

  My intention was to use Leadville’s history as a framework on which to hang my story. As such, I strove to portray the general feel and milieu of the times. As Stephen Voynick notes in his book Leadville: A Miner’s Epic, "Leadville took her birth from the gold mines, her fame and fortune from the silver mines…." In April 1860, gold was discovered in California Gulch of the Arkansas Valley. By June, 4,000 men had arrived, staking 400 separate claims. By 1863, the gold rush was essentially over. Yet another, bigger one lay ahead.

  In 1875, the heavy black sands that clogged the hydraulic equipment for extracting gold were discovered to be lead carbonate with silver. Enough silver to be interesting, even enriching. In 1877, the silver strikes began, and ordinary folks realized something extraordinary was going on in this Colorado mining camp up at ten thousand feet in the mountains. In 1878, the rush gained momentum and fortunes were being pulled from Fryer, Carbonate, and Iron Hills in the mining district.

  A census in early 1879, about the time Leadville became incorporated as a city, shows a population of just over 5,000. By the end of the year, the city claimed a population of 20,000, a mine production of ten million dollars and an infrastructure that included a hospital, a water system, a police force, a fire department, a local telephone company, a gas company, and a post office. The railroad had yet to arrive in in this high mountain city, and all goods, from books to flour to diamond-dust mirrors, had to be freighted in by wagon at great expense. In addition, the law of "supply and demand" was in full operation as was speculation in real estate. Lots on Harrison Avenue that were twenty-five feet fronting the street and half a block in depth were selling for five to six thousand dollars, compared to two hundred dollars a mere year before. Saloons were plentiful (although only three women in the 1880 census laid claim to the occupation of saloon keeper or bartender, compared to 228 men).

  I’ve alluded to certain real events, including the vigilante hanging of Edwin Frodsham, leader of a lot-jumping gang, and Patrick Stewart, a footpad, on November 20, 1879, the same day as the opening of the Tabor Opera House. As for the characters in Silver Lies, they are either fictitious or treated fictitiously. Among the true-to-life who saunter through the pages are Mattie Silks, who did indeed own parlor houses in Denver, Georgetown, and other Colorado venues, and Bat Masterson, who, although he probably didn’t put in an appearance quite so early in 1880, by all accounts did come through this gambling mecca more than once. The Silver Queen is entirely fictional, although I set it up kitty-corner to a very real one, Wyman’s Place, and appropriated Wyman’s rules of the house.

  Thousands of pages have been written about "Cloud City," as Leadville has been called, and its people. Those interested in learning more might try Edward Blair’s Leadville: Colorado’s Magic City or (for heavy hitters) Don and Jean Griswold’s two-volume History of Leadville and Lake County, Colorado.

  Regard
ing Leadville’s miners and mining history, there’s Stephen Voynick’s Leadville: A Miner’s Epic. For women’s voices describing life in the mining camps and towns, I recommend Mary Hallock Foote’s A Victorian Gentlewoman in the Far West and Harriet Fish Backus’ Tomboy Bride. Malinda Jenkins’ Gambler’s Wife provides an interesting look at the life of an intrepid businesswoman and wife of a "sportin’ man."

  And yes, there really was a "Breakfast Bullets" column in the Leadville Chronicle.

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