Leaden Skies (14 page)
“And in that case,” Mrs. Clatchworthy continued, “Do you not think that the next step after supporting higher education for women would be to grant them the right to vote?”
As the crowd grumbled, two Leadville policemen appeared, almost as if they’d been primed for such a disruption. They grabbed Mrs. Clatchworthy’s arms and escorted her out with such alacrity that Inez would have bet her purple dancing slippers did not even skim the ground.
Satisfied mutterings moved in a wave throughout the attendees. Inez heard a man behind her say: “Only a fool’d answer in the affirmative. Political suicide, it’d be, to back this folly of women’s votes. And Grant’s no fool.”
Another, quieter voice answered, “Aye, but there are many who’d not be sad to see him hoisted by his own petard. And some who’d hurry him along to that fate.”
Inez turned her head, searching out the speakers, but their voices had disappeared into the general murmur. The sea of men in somber black eveningwear gave no hint as to the speaker’s identities.
Reverend Sands sighed. “Why am I not surprised. Pardon me, Mrs. Stannert. I want to be sure she is not mishandled nor mistreated. That she has a way home at this hour. I’ll return in a moment.” He guided Inez to an empty chair, one of many lining the wall, and began pushing his way through the crowd.
Inez, tracking Mrs. Clatchworthy’s hasty departure, startled at a light touch on her shoulder. Mrs. Wesley took the empty seat beside her. “May I?”
“Please do.” Inez was intrigued to have young Wesley’s mother at such close quarters.
The opening notes of a quadrille sounded. Dancers paired up, moved to the center of the floor, and formed squares of four couples.
Mrs. Wesley stared at Inez with a discomfiting intensity. “You know my son.”
Taken by surprise, Inez allowed a beat to pass. The music moved swiftly through the violins as she gathered her thoughts. Then: “Pardon me, Mrs. Wesley?”
“Lucretia. Please, Mrs. Stannert, call me Lucretia. I’m well aware of the business you’re in. The selling of spirits. The corruption of young men’s morals and their souls.”
“Mrs. Wesley. I don’t see, really, why
my
business is any of
your
business,” Inez responded more politely than she felt. “And, as your son is well past the age of majority—”
“He’s as ignorant as a child. A boy still in skirts.” The fan she snapped open did nothing to hide the tightness about her mouth. “All that he is now, he owes to me.”
“Indeed.” Inez was intrigued. “And, why are you telling me this?”
“That woman.” Lucretia nodded toward the door. “Do you know who she is?”
“Her name is Mrs. Clatchworthy. Our city’s suffragist, is my understanding. Runs a small newspaper. Our paths do not intersect.”
“Ah, but they do.” The intensity had moved from eyes to voice. “She talks of votes for women. True parity with men. What do you think of that?”
Inez hesitated, thinking this was a very odd conversation to be having at a reception for General Grant. And even odder as it was with a woman she didn’t know, but had been warned about. She took the neutral path. “I’ve no particular opinion. Politics do not concern me, unless talk of such involves a large consumption of spirits at the Silver Queen.”
Mrs. Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “I have been here but a couple days, but I have my sources. After my son was so unwise as to wander into your
saloon
—” she made the place sound as unsavory as a whorehouse— “I put out inquiries. I was, at first, appalled at what I heard. A woman, whose husband deserted her, in business with her husband’s partner. A colored man. This quite goes beyond the pale. But, this is Leadville, not Boston. I then learned that this woman is having a liaison with one of the city’s most well-respected ministers.”
Inez was speechless.
“No matter.” The metronomic fan never missed a beat. “We all have our secrets. It just seemed to me that we might find ourselves with similar goals. And, if so, we might work together, at least for a time, to be sure those goals aren’t derailed. But perhaps I was wrong.” She began to rise.
Inez tapped Lucretia’s arm with her own fan. “Wait! What do you mean, similar goals?”
Lucretia sank back into the chair. “Do you believe women should have the vote?”
“As I said, I haven’t an opinion.”
“Well, perhaps you should.” Those eyes were dark enough to swallow all the light in the room. “As a woman who works hard, supports herself, does it seem fair that a man can simply come and reclaim all that you’ve done? I’m sure if you think about it, the answer becomes obvious.” She leaned forward. “I lived a life like yours. All my work, all the benefit, all the plaudits, went to my husband. Not a bit to me. Then, he found a younger woman.” She paused. “Alas, he met with an untimely end. I could have ended up in your place, but for God’s will. As it is, my late husband’s businesses and most of his wealth have passed on to my dear son.”
Lucretia turned her head as if checking her son’s whereabouts. Inez noticed that he was standing with the same group of young men he had been with in her saloon. Wesley’s mother said softly, almost as if to herself, “I sent him to Boston to get a proper education. Set him on the road to greatness that is sure to come. If—” she turned around to face Inez—“he doesn’t misstep.”
Just beyond young Wesley stood Horace Tabor with the governor and his own circle of intimates. Inez noticed that Mrs. Tabor had withdrawn and was in conversation with the mayor’s wife. In postures of man and wife, Inez sensed a separation far wider and deeper than the mere ten strides that separated them.
Almost as if she knew the direction of Inez’s gaze, Mrs. Wesley continued, “Mr. Tabor has great ambitions. Ambitions not shared by his wife. Oh, I’ve had occasion to chat with Augusta. Her son and mine are of an age and struck up a recent friendship. Augusta and I have much in common. We come from humble beginnings. Our husbands made fortunes in silver—hers, here in Leadville; mine, in Virginia City. Yet, again, all the profits, all the benefits, go to the husband. Is that right, I ask, is that fair, when we put in just as long hours, kept the books, tended the business side as we would our gardens?”
I’m not like that.
The thought flashed through Inez’s mind, a stubborn denial.
Mark always gave me my separate cut of the profits when we were traveling. I never had to ask or beg for money. He won the Silver Queen in a poker game but split the saloon equally with Abe, his business partner, and me, his partner for life. I’m not like this embittered woman. What she is saying has nothing to do with me.
“My son,” Lucretia said, “has a gift. He draws people to him. He speaks, they listen, and they believe. He can accomplish what I cannot.” She seemed to be looking beyond Inez, now, off into a realm far away from the stuffy, noisy, crowded reception hall. “He knows the depths of his father’s sins, and the sins of men. He has a name full of destiny. John Quincy Adams, I named him so. It’s a prophecy. He will champion our cause in Washington. Mr. Tabor cannot dictate the motion of the stars. My John will rise above him. The stars have said.”
Inez had had enough. Enough of the over-sweet punch. Enough of Lucretia Wesley’s odd ramblings.
The end of her patience coincided with the quadrille’s end and young Wesley’s realization of where his mother was and with whom she was talking.
Wesley hastened over as the orchestra struck up the introduction to a waltz.
Inez saw that Jed Elliston was also making his way through the crowd toward them on a direct collision path with Wesley. She had no doubt, given the narrowness of the reporter’s glare and the general hungry look about him, that he was after Wesley for some journalistic tidbit or other.
Behind Jed, Kavanagh closed the gap between himself and Jed. Kavanagh’s expression suggested that, if he had his way, Jed would not reach Wesley at all.
I need a dance partner. Jed is here, and he will do. And maybe I can find out more about all this business of son and mother.
Inez stood in a rustle of skirts and placed her half-empty cup on the small nearby table. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wesley. I wish you and your son well. But I’ve nothing to do with politics. My life is full enough without taking up a lost cause.” She smiled to lessen any sting from her words.
Before Mrs. Wesley could respond, her son stopped before them. “Maman.” There was a touch of concern behind the filial salutation. The hint of a question. “And Mrs. Stannert, is it not?” He performed a bow and topped it with a charming smile. “Such a pleasure to meet you just now, in the company of Reverend Sands.” There was a touch of warning in his voice that telegraphed to Inez: Don’t say anything.
“Maman, are you feeling all right? I know it’s awfully warm in here.”
“Perhaps a touch tired. But it will pass. And this is such an historic moment. The reception. The Grants. The governor. And us here.” Mrs. Wesley gazed at her son, years falling away as her face softened and brightened. She reminded Inez of a sunflower turned upwards to the sun.
Wesley smiled down at her indulgently. “In that case, if you feel well enough, may I have this dance? It will be my only chance before the politicians and giants of American industry present insist on having their turns with you on the dance floor.”
He held out a hand. She placed her hand in his, and rose.
Inez hastened to Jed, planting herself in his path, between him and the Wesleys. He skidded to a stop before her.
“Why, Mr. Elliston, thank you, I would love to dance with you,” said Inez holding out her arms and cocking her head to one side.
“Dance? Mrs. Stannert, if you’ll excuse me, I have business with—” His gaze darted over her shoulder.
“John Wesley? Or his mother? Well, as you see, now is not the time to bring it up as the dance is about to begin, and they are engaged. Now, be a good fellow and don’t embarrass me. After all, don’t I allow you to run a tab as necessary?” Inez closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his shoulder, nearly forcing him to take her other hand in his. She lowered her voice. “I have information for you about the son and mother, and a few questions about them as well.”
“Information?” He automatically placed his hand on her waist, his gaze pinned on the Wesleys as though he were afraid they might vanish into thin air.
Kavanagh paused in his trajectory. He then continued, bumping Jed’s shoulder with an unapologetic “pardon me,” before veering toward the refreshment table. Color flooded Jed’s anemic complexion. He made to drop Inez’s hand. She increased her grip to a ferocious pressure and murmured, “Don’t give him the satisfaction. He’s hoping to goad you so you’ll be thrown out. Yet again.”
The music began in earnest. Inez took a small step forward, forcing Jed to step back. They swung into the rhythm of the dance as Jed grumbled, “I should mash that fellow’s head in.”
“His name is Kavanagh, and he’s only doing what he’s been hired to do.” Inez was gratified to discover that Jed was not a half bad dancer. In fact, he was quite good.
As they moved about the floor, Jed reversed his gaze to her. “So what was Mrs. Wesley saying to you? Was she trying to talk you into joining the Women’s Temperance Union?”
Inez smiled at that. “Well, it was nearly as bad. In my view, anyway. Mrs. Wesley is quite the suffragist. Ah, I’m supposed to call her Lucretia. In any case, Lucretia was weaving a story about her son and how his path was set for politics. She told me that once he became senator, governor, president—the pinnacle of achievement she hoped for was a bit unclear—he would work for women’s right to vote.”
Jed’s grip tightened convulsively, cracking Inez’s knuckles.
“Uhng.” It was a garbled, half-choked, completely nonsensical response.
Inez looked at him in alarm. “Mr. Elliston. Jed. What’s wrong?”
He was gabbling fast, under his breath. Inez caught, “It’s true! I didn’t doubt, but I wondered. And now, independent corroboration! I can now state, ‘a source close to the mother said.’”
“What are you talking about?”
His brown eyes burned with journalistic fervor. “Thank you, Mrs. Stannert. You have given me a great gift! Read tomorrow’s newspaper and you’ll understand.” He whirled her in a tight, joyous circle. “I owe you. I will send every thirsty journalist I know your way for the rest of my days in Leadville.”
“Well, you’re welcome, although I’ve no idea what I said to make you jump so. If you really want to thank me, send not the penniless journalists, but the well-heeled investors behind the papers, if there be any.” She smiled, to show she was joking, but just. “Now, what can you tell me about Mrs. Wesley and her son? Surely you’ve done some digging. I’m curious as to where they’re from and how they made their fortune.”
“Most of my information was picked up from the out-of-town scribes over beer earlier today.” Jed led absent-mindedly, his thoughts elsewhere, but he continued readily enough. “In a nutshell, old Mr. Wesley—and he was old, by all accounts, nearly half a century—made it rich in Virginia City silver and married Lucretia Lawson, who was…well, her age varies from fifteen to nineteen. Miss Lawson’s occupation at that time varies from runaway turned dancehall girl to daughter of a respectable man fallen on hard times. Anyhow, the Wesley
pater familias
died at sixty-five, having led a long and lusty—oh, pardon me, Mrs. Stannert—life. We’ll not go into the latter, but it seems he never lost his taste for dancehall women. Ahem. I’ll add, since I know you love a bit of rumor and gossip, that there was some question regarding the nature of his death. But, he was old, she was young,
and
lovely,
and
now very, very wealthy. Or rather, her son was wealthy, which really came down to the same thing in this case. So, mother and son relocated to San Francisco.” Jed shrugged.
“We pick up a year or two later, when Mrs. Wesley, with all her charms and her departed husband’s money, sends her son, John Quincy Adams Wesley—a truly ridiculous name, there—packing to Boston and the very respectable side of her family. By virtue of said money and Boston connections, J.Q.A.W. slides easily into Yale and subsequently joins a prestigious family law firm. John Wesley is then sent to Denver to establish a new office, and the happily reunited mother and son settle in the lovely city at the foot of the Rockies, where they make quite a splash, society-wise. And politics-wise.”
