Silver Lies (6 page)

He turned and kissed her on the nose. Inez was too disheartened to demand when and where he’d conversed with Madam DuBois.

Mark continued, "Doc says William can’t make another winter, so we’ll be on the train out of Denver by July. August at the latest." He settled his hat on his head, preparing to go to the saloon. "I hear autumn’s mighty fine in California."

The next day, he disappeared from Leadville and her life.

999

After promising to return the following day, Inez left Emma and walked home in the dwindling winter light. Emotionally exhausted from reliving her memories and keeping Emma company, Inez settled into her own, silent parlor, wrapped in one of Mark’s old sweaters. She flexed her toes in their soggy green-striped stockings and stared at the small fir tree struggling to stay erect in the front yard.

Her feet ached, as did her heart. And something dark waited along the edges of her grief. Questions, but no answers.

With a sigh, she lifted the keyboard cover of her parlor grand piano. Her fingers ran up and down the scales, letting a waterfall of measured notes pour into the silence. Exploring tones by touch in the darkening room, she picked music to fit her mood. The melody line surfaced from the liquid language of the piano’s strings and wrapped about her.

Closing her eyes, she let her sorrows, old and new, rise and fall with the music. The precision and beauty of Mozart anchored her, pulled her back from emotions that threatened to swallow her whole.

Inez surfaced at the end of the sonata to a persistent knocking on the door.
Abe.
He’d promised to stop by. She decided against forcing her damp stockinged feet into shoes. Stockings were not going to shock Abe. In their years together, he’d seen worse.

She abandoned Mark’s sweater to the keyboard and moved toward the sound. "Coming."

Inez opened the door.

Reverend Sands stood on the small porch, ankle deep in drifting snow, looking none too happy.

"Pardon, Mrs. Stannert, but when I didn’t hear from you…"

He stopped, as if her expression had finally registered past his displeasure. "May I come in?" He curled a hand around the edge of the door as if to prevent her from slamming it in his face.

She contemplated that hand for a moment. Long fingers, square clean nails. Strong, capable. The hand of a physical man, but not of a prospector or laborer. Fighting a vague uneasiness, Inez looked back at his face. Concern settled across his features, although the blue-gray eyes were far too piercing to be sympathetic.

"My apologies. I did say I would send for you, didn’t I. Please, come in." She stood aside and gestured toward the parlor.

He used his black hat to knock the snow off his shoulders before entering. His boots echoed on the varnished hardwood floor of the entryway.

Boots.

She looked down. The tips of her green-striped stockings were barely visible beneath her long skirts.

Reverend Sands glanced around the parlor, his gaze lingering on the piano. She followed and indicated the maroon loveseat.

He sat and idly began flapping his hat up and down on the back of the small sofa, watching her. Inez felt disinclined to take his hat. Her reluctance grew as his gaze shifted slowly downward, pausing at her stockinged feet. This visit, she decided, would be brief.

Mustering dignity learned in the deportment lessons of her youth, Inez moved toward the sideboard. "Tea, Reverend Sands? Or something stronger?"

"No. Thank you."

"Well, I’m having both." Inez opened a door on the sideboard and pulled out a decanter. She measured a generous amount of brandy into her tea before returning to the piano seat. As she sipped, the warm liquid slid down, untying the last cold knot of sorrow. For the present.

"Reverend, you have your work cut out for you. Mrs. Rose’s husband was killed last night in a terrible accident."

Accident.
The word mocked her. An image of Marshal Hollis’ skeptical face floated through her mind.

Reverend Sands stopped tapping and leaned forward, sympathetic. "I heard as much this afternoon. Normally, I would have gone directly to the family and offered my assistance. But in this case, I’m at a disadvantage, having just arrived in town." He leaned back, looking relaxed, except for those eyes. "Since you’re a friend of the Roses and a member of the congregation, I thought you could advise me on the best course of action. Perhaps Mrs. Rose prefers the company of those close to her right now." He shrugged, acknowledging his status as an outsider.

Inez studied him. On closer examination, she had to admit that Susan and Madam DuBois were right: He was rather attractive. Although, she felt that, even as she watched, he shifted, wasn’t quite in focus. It was, Inez decided, like looking at someone through a pair of bad spectacles. Behind the relaxed demeanor, he seemed to be watching, waiting for her to reveal through some throwaway gesture who she was, what kind of hand she held.

"I’d have pegged you as a gambler rather than a man of the cloth."

The reverend’s eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

Inez hoped the twilight hid the flush crawling up her face. "Pardon. How inexcusable of me."

She placed cup and saucer on top of the piano. "I own a drinking establishment downtown. It’s in my best interest to divine those who walk through my doors before the liquor flows and the cards are dealt. When people arrive in Leadville, they shed their pasts like old coats. Not all are what they seem."

Inez rose to light a small lamp. "It’s getting late. Let’s speak of the Roses."

The warm lamplight chased away the shadows, revealing the concern etched in the reverend’s face. He nodded, looking, for the moment, like a proper clergyman.

Inez drained the lukewarm tea and forced herself not to look at the bottle on the sideboard. "As with everyone in Leadville, they’re from somewhere else. Joe’s from
Nebraska
, or maybe it’s
Kansas
. I think Emma’s the same. They met in
Colorado
, in one of the mining camps. I believe Emma was a schoolteacher. Joe is—was—an assayer. He came to the district in seventy-seven, seventy-eight. As anyone will tell you, Joe’s well respected. A man of integrity. Devoted to his family." She said the last almost as if she expected him to challenge her.

Sands merely asked, "Any relatives nearby? Family that Mrs. Rose can turn to? "

"None that I know of." Inez rubbed her forehead, feeling the fine strands of hair that had pulled loose from her chignon. "Joe’s business, the church, their friends. Every-thing’s here. Leadville is their home. I’d just assumed that they planned to stay until the silver boom goes bust. If it ever does. But this afternoon, Emma indicated they’d talked of leaving. I don’t know why." Inez glanced away, considering Emma’s dilemma. "Emma Rose is going to have a difficult time. Oh, not financially, Joe’s no doubt left her well provided for. However she, ah, she…"

Inez debated a moment.
Well. He’s her minister now after all. If he’s going to help, I’ve got to tell him.
"Mrs. Rose is in a family way. She told me a few days ago." Inez remembered the devastated look on Emma’s face when she’d delivered the news. "I don’t think," Inez finished lamely, "it was a particularly welcome development."

Sands leaned forward. "I’ll hold what you’ve told me in confidence, of course. Am I right in thinking tomorrow afternoon is soon enough to pay a call and offer my support?"

"I believe so. When I left her a while ago, she was very clear that she wanted time alone to talk with her son, Joey." Inez stood.

Reverend Sands followed her lead. "Mrs. Rose is lucky to have friends such as yourself to help her through these times.

Perhaps I might come around your place of business. We could talk further."

Inez walked toward the door. "It’s the Silver Queen, corner of
Harrison
and State. We serve only the best and never water it down."

He shook his head, a tad regretfully, she thought. "I’m not a drinking man myself."

"Well, I also employ the best cook in town. So if the liquor doesn’t tempt you, Bridgette’s biscuits and stew might."

Sands grinned. "Now that kind of temptation I find hard to resist. And I’d enjoy speaking with you more. Under different circumstances." His smile finally reached his eyes, matching the warmth of his voice.

Inez smiled back, feeling lightheaded.
Must be the brandy.
She pulled the door open. "Until later, then."

Standing outside, hand raised to knock, Abe looked as startled as the reverend.

Inez recovered first. "Why, Abe. How fortunate you’re here. Reverend Sands and I were just discussing the Roses. The reverend is interim minister for the church until June. Reverend, this is my business partner, Abe Jackson."

Sands held out his hand. "You’re a friend of the Roses?"

Abe’s hand engulfed the reverend’s. He looked the cleric over and smiled. The same smile he gave to strangers as he dealt the cards. A smile to keep the suckers easy in their chairs. "Mighty fine to meet you, Reverend." His drawl became more pronounced. "Lord’s taken Joe to a better place. Now we got to help Miz Rose through these troubled times, raise our voices to the Lord and say His name in praise and prayer."

Inez stared. The only times she’d ever heard Abe raise his voice to say the Lord’s name, it wasn’t in praise. Or in prayer. Abe rolled on. "Yes, God Almighty’s gathered Joe to His bosom. Called him home. Right, Reverend?"

"Yes. Exactly." Sands extracted his hand and glanced up at the black sky. Whirling snowflakes appeared and wheeled lazily down to vanish in the drifts at his feet. "The wind has dropped. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jackson. I look forward to seeing you again sometime." With a last smile at Inez, he walked out of the small pool of light on the porch and into the darkness.

Inez and Abe stood at the door, watching Sands disappear down the street.

"He’s no reverend," Abe said flatly.