The Gold Miner's Wife: A Young Woman's Story of Romance, Passion and Murder (10 page)

              Susannah stood there, rooted in the same spot for several moments, lost in contemplation.  It
was
hot.  The heat was starting to play tricks with her brain, causing her to have inappropriate thoughts and imaginings.  It was the heat, of that she was sure.  It was time to shed some of these insufferably hot clothes before she drowned in the excessive yards of fabric.  She turned toward the stairs, but just then, Catori appeared in the hallway, her hand outstretched to reveal a letter.

             
“This came for you,” she said with a smile.  “It was delivered while you were meeting in the parlor.”

             
Susannah took the missive and her countenance transformed into one of pleasant surprise and eager anticipation.  “From Grandmamma!” she exclaimed.  “Thank you, Catori.  I believe Edward may still be in the parlor.  Please convey my excuses and let him know I have gone up to rest.”

             
“Of course,” said Catori.  “I will look in on you later.”

             
This letter was just what Susannah needed.  It was a letter in earnest, not merely an abbreviated telegram.  What Grandmamma had to say was always so encouraging.  The mail was excruciatingly slow and she had only received one other letter from Grandmamma since Thomas’ death.  Once in her bedchamber, she quickly dispensed with her day dress, uncomfortable corset and stockings.  Cooler now, and sitting on the bed in her petticoat and chemise, she anxiously tore open the letter.

My Dear Child,

             
              The many brief telegrams that have passed between us recently have left me highly dissatisfied.  What they offer in the convenience of a timely delivery, they sacrifice in their lack of any meaningful content.

             
              I wish you to be in the same room with me for an extended conversation.  It would do both of our hearts a great deal of good.  You are in my thoughts always, but I cannot see you or talk with you as I so desire to do.  Instead, I am left to worry and wonder about your mental state.  It is some small relief to me that by a particular miracle of Providence, Edward and Charlotte are there to give their comfort and support.  I also believe your Mr. Simmons to be a solid, dependable fellow.

             
              When you have settled whatever affairs are most pressing as a result of this tragedy, please come home as soon as may be.  You are all goodness and sweetness and you do not deserve this cruel heartbreak.  We must face this sorrow together.  I long to see you again and will be uneasy until you are safely returned to me.

             
You are always keen on news from home and I have very little to report except to say that our own Miss Parker is being regularly courted by a Mr. Griswold from the village.  He is a tailor and a widower with two grown children.  I have it on good authority that their courtship has taken a serious turn.  I hope it is so.  I long to offer my heartfelt congratulations for their future happiness. 

Also, it did not escape my notice, while traveling to church on
Sunday, that sections of Edward Mansfield’s fence have fallen into a sorry state of disrepair.  It is most noticeable along Billingham Road.  One can only attribute it to his having been away from home for an unexpected length of time.  We must all be grateful to him as he has put his many other responsibilities aside in an effort to assist you in your hour of need.

Please consider thoughtfully the full import of your plans for the days and weeks ahead.  We would both benefit greatly if allowed the opportunity to spend time together.

With much love,   Grandmamma

She read the letter over again and could almost hear her Grandmother’s soft voice speaking the words.  Of course Grandmother was right, it would do her a world of good to return home.  By late afternoon she was seated at her writing desk, laboring over a reply.  The intensity of the heat had eased up a bit.  People would be sitting on their porches soon, waiting for nightfall to bring refreshing coolness. 

              Catori knocked at the bedroom door.  “How is your Grandmother?” she asked.

             
“Grandmamma is well, but anxious for further news.  I am attempting to reassure her in my answer,” she said, looking up from the writing desk.  “But until the time comes that I travel back home, she will remain uneasy.”

  
              “Yours is a very close bond.  For both of your sakes, I hope you will be together again soon,” Catori said honestly.  Somehow Catori always brought much needed clarity to any circumstance.  “Although we are adults, our elders continue to be a valuable source of wisdom and insight.  When we do not know where to turn, we must turn to them,” she continued.

             
“Yes,” Susannah agreed.  “Grandmamma still refers to me as ‘my dear child’, to her I will always be thus, the delightful little girl.”

             
“The elderly often have a superior view of life’s experiences.  They have given greater consideration to the spiritual ingredient that dwells in all of us.  Theirs has been the grander journey, and we must make use of that understanding whenever we can,” Catori added.

             
“Grandmamma is serene, reflective.  She leads an ordered life and endeavors to enjoy each new day, focused on things that matter – to stop and smell the flowers as we are advised to do.  I am aware that recent events in my life have been disruptive to her as well.  I must do a better job of following her example, and must do all I can to restore her equanimity.”

             
“It is your own equanimity that needs attention first.  Your life has become topsy-turvy,” Catori observed as she took a seat by the window.

             
“Oh Catori,” she sighed, tears welling up.  “Sometimes I don’t know what I am doing.  I visit the cemetery and say a prayer over Thomas’ grave.  But I don’t know how to go on.”

             
“No one does,” Catori said quietly.

             
“There are too many things needing my attention,” lamented Susannah.  “As a result, I retreat and do nothing, like some over pampered wretch.  This makes me appear weak in the eyes of others, like Mr. Mansfield.  At every turn he feels he must be there to assist me in some way.  I admit to being weak-willed recently, but I am certainly not weak, simply disappointed in myself.”

             
Catori had formed an unflattering view of the overbearing Edward Mansfield; she was suspicious of him.  The abrupt departure of his employee Mr. Brophy, followed by his curiously timed return one week later, only to disappear again later that very day, was strange indeed.  Also, Mansfield seemed to be keenly interested in Susannah’s financial well-being.  Perhaps inordinately so.  Catori also knew Susannah held him in high esteem, their friendship evidently had been established long ago.  Susannah’s opinion of his good character elevated him in the eyes of others.  And although she was herself unsure about Mansfield she kept her counsel.  She would not be the one to cast the first stone. 

             
“May I do something to help?” Catori asked.

             
“I do not know,” Susannah said honestly.  “First there is the matter of Mr. Simmons and the mine.  I must think on the level of involvement I envision for myself and then be straightforward with him.”

             
“My impression is that Mr. Simmons is rather particular.  He probably likes to have things done a certain way, his way.  However, I believe his concern for Thomas and for their joint enterprise was always beyond reproach.  I think he is trustworthy,” Catori said reassuringly.

             
“I agree,” said Susannah.

Catori
went further.  “Many people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.  I think Mr. Simmons listens with the intent to understand.”

“I agree with you,” said Susannah.  “I trust him.  He has integrity.  The widow of Mr. Schultz, the other miner who was killed, has also been on my mind.  I must call on her, offer to help her in some way.  She has a little boy, I understand, who is now without a father,” Susannah continued.

              “Mrs. Sheppard and I can help you with that.  We will put together an assortment of the most indispensable items, similar to what we do when new neighbors arrive and a ‘pound party’ is organized,” Catori suggested.  It was true.  Under happier circumstances, it was the local custom for established neighbors to welcome newcomers, with each bringing one pound of such staples as sugar, coffee, rice and beans and other necessities.

             
“I would be most grateful if you would do that,” said Susannah with some relief.  “When Mr. Simmons returns in a few days, he will accompany the both of us to call on her.  And now, I must dress for dinner.  I have been neglecting my loyal friends from England.  They are set to leave in two days and I would not have them continue to worry about me and my difficulties.”

             
Two days later, Edward Mansfield, his sister Charlotte and their two servants left Denver.  The Kansas Pacific Railway was the only line with the superior comfort of Pullman cars.  The train departed the station at 1:00 p.m. destined for Kansas City, Missouri.  This first leg of their journey home was a distance of some 600 miles.  Although Susannah was still not up to the task of entertaining or socializing, she had made an extra effort to dine with her guests the night before. The memorable meal prepared by Mrs. Sheppard included tomato bisque soup, followed by roast saddle of antelope and apple tandy.  This made for a pleasant final evening.  

Mansfield was pleased that he had executed his plan magnificently thus far.  With Thomas out of the picture, he had formed a deeper friendship with Susannah, gained her trust and confidence and had openly displayed an admiration for her that was unambiguous.  In addition, he had acquitted himself very well among some of her closest friends, including members of the Ladies Aide Society whom he sufficiently charmed with a cash donation shortly after his arrival.  It had been a high stakes game of intrigue and deception and it had been well played. 

But his sojourn to Denver had not been without emotional pressure.  The disagreeable and meddlesome Jack Simmons was a constant thorn in his side.  Also, the trip had been an expensive one and he was running low on funds.  Before arriving in Denver in late July, the Mansfield’s had already been traveling for a full month.  It was now nearly September and would take at least 17 days before they were in England again.  His payment to Brophy for services rendered was costly.  And telegrams from home conveyed the troubling news that his estate was falling into further disrepair.  He would be forced to sell off some of his sheep as a temporary solution.

As they sat in the parlor waiting for Charlotte to come down, Edward made full use of his final hour in Susannah’s home by pledging his continued loyalty and devotion to her well-being.  “You must correspond regularly,” he insisted, “as will I.  Send a telegram if something is urgent.”

“I promise to keep you informed, Edward,” Susannah reassured him.

“Please do not mistake my concern over your business dealings with Mr. Simmons as interference.  I want only for you to protect your late husband’s investment.  It is for your own future security and well-being,” he said convincingly.

“I know your efforts are well-intended,” she replied.

“I will call on your grandmother as soon as we are returned and give you a full report,” he continued, as they both stood.

Susannah was especially grateful to Edward at this pronouncement as she was always eager for news about Grandmamma.  “You are too kind, Edward,” she said, clasping his hand.  “It means a great deal to me that you have been such a steadfast friend.  I appreciate all you have done.”

Susannah was surprised when he unexpectedly pulled her closer, into a fond embrace, and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.  Her full breasts were pinned firmly against his broad chest now.  Susannah knew this was highly improper, but it was also oddly comforting to her as she missed being held safely in someone’s arms.  The feeling was only momentary, and she did not read too much into it.  Edward was leaving after all.  She pulled away and he felt the loss of it.  He wanted her, badly, but knew he must continue his deception and be patient.  Opportunities to woo her would present themselves in time, but for now he kept his eye on the prize.

“I hope we will be reunited again soon, Susannah,” he said softly.  “And under happier circumstances.  What I really wish is for you to return to England where you have so many people who care about you.  I believe you could come home for a little while at least.  Your Mr. Hoyt would be a trusted advisor to manage your financial affairs in your absence.  England is your real home.  All that glitters is not gold, Susannah.”

He had no doubt that his pretty little farewell speech had given her something to contemplate.  With her husband dead, what compelling reasons might she have to remain in Denver permanently?  He would persuade her otherwise, would lure her home again by hook or by crook.  He would play the attentive protector, until he had her completely in his power.  In the fullness of time, he would make her his wife and would gain control of her fortune.  Then he would have her luscious body pinned beneath him, would hear her panting, she would cry out his name and beg him for more.  As he allowed his mind to dwell on these fantasies, the more demented he became.

Charlotte swept into the parlor in a rush, pulling on her gloves.  It was time to go.  “I am heartily sorry to leave you Susannah, with all that has happened.  I hope in time you will recover and that your broken heart will mend.  I promise to write regularly,” she said kindly with a warm embrace.

“You have been a faithful friend.  I will write as well.  Thank you both, for everything.  Have a safe journey,” said Susannah as she bid them farewell.

Later that day, with Edward and Charlotte and their servants now departed, Susannah found the spacious mansion to be inordinately quiet.  She missed her friends already.  It was important to keep herself busy, to feel useful in some way, or else she would become gloomy and introspective or surely lose her mind.  She sought the company of Catori and Mrs. Sheppard and found them in the kitchen.  Mrs. Sheppard always clucked over her and Catori gave fresh insight to any conversation.  Susannah and her household staff were like a close little family and she valued their amiable companionship.  They raised her spirits.  In the cozy kitchen, the world was a pleasant place indeed.

When Susannah entered the room, she observed Mrs. Sheppard preparing some unknown concoction at the table that involved dried daisies, while near the window
Catori busied herself packing items into a large basket.  They were chuckling over their recollections of Charlotte’s personal maid, Miss Prescott, who had given them all fits by constantly misplacing her spectacles. 

“She was a funny one, without a doubt,” said
Catori.  “I hunted around several times to help her find them.  On one occasion she discovered that they were in her pocket all along.”

“That Mr.
Brophy was a strange one.  We didn’t see much of him,” said Mrs. Sheppard.

“Who was Mr.
Brophy, again?” asked Susannah. 

Mrs. Sheppard looked up from the work table.  “Mr. Mansfield’s personal bodyguard, but he was not here very long,” she stated.  “May I fix you some tea or lemonade?” she asked.

“You are busy.  I will do it,” said Susannah as she reached for the lemon press.  “What was strange about him?” 

“Mr.
Brophy kept to his room after everyone was settled.  We were told he was under the weather.  Mrs. Sheppard sent up a tray.  But on the second morning after his arrival he left bright and early, even before the sun was completely up.  He returned a week later, but was gone again for good later that very day,” said Catori. 

“Do you suppose he had relatives nearby, or found another position?” Mrs. Sheppard wondered, looking puzzled.  “

“I do not know,” Catori answered.  “But he seemed to have a hardness to him.  I observed him kicking Fluffy Lucero.”

“I don’t like to hear that!” exclaimed Susannah.

“Why would Edward Mansfield have that type of person in his employ?” Catori wondered.  

Susannah found the new information about Mr.
Brophy kicking the cat very troubling.  Had she assessed Edward Mansfield’s character incorrectly?  But she said to her friends, “His comings and goings do sound peculiar.  I remember Edward introducing Mr. Brophy at the train station, but he never mentioned him again.  With all that happened, I had forgotten about him.  Perhaps we will never know.  What are you making there?” she then asked Mrs. Sheppard, wanting to change the subject.

“Oh you know, for the ongoing problem I have.  I believe this tonic does help relieve my night sweats the way nothing else does,” Mrs. Sheppard answered.  The recipe had been passed down to Mrs. Sheppard by her mother and she found it to be quite reliable.  She had gathered the blossoms of white daisies and dried them.  The petals were ground into a fine powder.  A teacup was then filled one half full of the powder mixture and boiling water poured over it.  After the liquid had cooled, it was drained with the liquid set away to drink on going to bed.  The recipe yielded about one gill, just the right dose. 

“I must make a mental note of your recipe for future reference,” Susannah said, smiling.

“My dear,” said Mrs. Sheppard, “It shall be
many
years before you will need to take such drastic measures!  Perhaps by then, let us hope something else will come available at the apothecary shop.”

“You are right of course,” admitted Susannah.  “Hot summer days can be downright unpleasant to begin with, so I am glad you have settled upon a solution that provides some relief.”  Susannah turned her attention to
Catori.  “How is our basket coming?” she asked, walking toward her.

“I believe we have everything that was on the list.  The bolts of fabric you selected were wrapped separately by the storekeeper.  We bought twenty yards altogether in several colors.  The cost was twenty five cents per yard.  Mrs. Schultz should be able to make quite a few garments.”

“Thank you for all you did to organize that,” Susannah said appreciatively. 

“The
Biscochitos you baked earlier this morning will be a nice treat as well,” beamed Mrs. Sheppard.

“You baked
Biscochitos?  I thought I smelled that spicy fragrance,” said Susannah.

“Yes, this morning,” answered
Catori “while the day was still cool.”

“Everyone likes those cookies,” said Susannah.  She had never heard of
Biscochitos until she came to Colorado.  The cookies were flavored with anise and brandy and the recipe had been introduced by the early Spaniards.

“I saved you some!   I had the storekeeper wrap up some lemon gumdrops and peppermint barber pole candy for the little boy,”
Catori added.

“You
have
thought of everything,” said Susannah.  “I know Mrs. Schultz will be pleasantly surprised.  We are ready then for Mr. Simmons when he comes by to collect us in the morning.   He promised to be here at ten o’clock.”

Susannah anticipated the scheduled meeting with Mrs. Schultz with nervous apprehension.  How could she convey her sympathy and express her sincere condolences when she knew no German and, it appeared, Mrs. Schultz knew almost no English?   It was Jack who relieved her anxiety.  He had limited German and would try to be of some help.  They would get along, he insisted.  It had, in fact, been Mrs. Schultz’s own husband who had helped him acquire some vocabulary.  The next morning arrived soon enough.

The buggy ride to Mrs. Schultz’s white-washed wood frame house on the outskirts of town took about a half hour.  Situated on a gravel lane, it was a narrow little house, more like a bungalow and stood in a row of other little wooden houses just like it.  The front yard looked tidy and was enclosed with a low wooden fence, where a few chickens freely roamed about, pecking and scratching.  Colorful zinnias were in bloom near the front porch.  The back yard was narrow, but the parcel of land was deep.  It was similarly enclosed to contain a lone milking cow.  There was also a small wooden shed, evidently a shelter for the cow, along with a few apple trees and a tiny vegetable garden.  During the months when the gold mine was in full operation, Heinz Schultz had lived at the mining camp and slept in the bunkhouse.  He would return home at intervals when he could.  In the cold winter months, he lived here with his wife and little boy, Otto, and earned money doing odd jobs.  The Schultz’s were solvent financially and had even managed to put by a small sum.  

Mrs. Schultz had heard the buggy pull up and was at the door to greet them.  Like Susannah, she wore an unadorned black cotton day dress, but also had on an apron.  Her thick blonde hair was braided, the coils pinned like a crown atop her head.   Susannah guessed her age to be no more than thirty. 

Jack helped the ladies down from the buggy and took charge of the large basket.  Catori and Susannah carried the parcels containing the bolts of fabric.  Mrs. Schultz appeared a bit nervous, but clearly recognized Jack, and eagerly welcomed the three of them inside.

“
Guten morgen, good morning Mrs. Schultz,” Jack greeted her.

“
Guten morgen, willkoomen,” she replied.  “Bitte setzen, sit,” she said as she motioned to the wooden chairs in the front room.

Susannah stepped forward and extended her hand in greeting.  “Mrs. Schultz,” she said.

“This is Mrs. Sprague,” said Jack.

“Susannah,” she corrected him.  “My name is Susannah,” she said without formality.

“Susannah,” Mrs. Schultz repeated.  She knew without being told that this was Mr. Sprague’s widow, that their men died together, that they shared in common this terrible heartbreak.

“And this is
Catori,” Jack added.

“
Catori,” Mrs. Schultz repeated, shaking her hand.

“My name,
Gerta,” she said pointing to herself.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,
Gerta,” the ladies replied.  With introductions out of the way, and the group now seated, Susannah observed her surroundings.  The room was small and neat, the wooden floor, swept.  They sat at a large round table in the center of the room.  It was covered with an embroidered lace tablecloth with an oil lamp in the center.  There was a carved wooden chest under the window and the room had a fireplace with a clock above the mantle, along with two silver candlesticks.  Also displayed on the mantle was a photograph of Gerta and Heinz on their wedding day.  The plaster walls were painted white and on one was hung a small oil painting, evidently a pastoral scene from some familiar place in Germany.  A bookcase held an assortment of books with German words on the spines.  Somehow Susannah felt the books were among Gerta’s most treasured possessions.  She was relieved to see that Gerta’s situation was not as hopeless as she had originally feared.  She was literate, her house was adequate, and her milking cow would provide a small income.