Iron Ties (29 page)
Inez chafed as thirty precious hours slipped by like a rushing mountain stream between Tuesday morning and Wednesday evening.
Newcomers were pouring into town—from out of the mountains, nearby settlements, and even from Denver—brought in by news of Grant’s impending arrival. They disembarked at Malta from the twice-daily trains and took carriages or wagons or trusted their own two feet to deliver them to Leadville.
They arrived dusty, thirsty, and hungry to find all hotels full, long waits at the restaurants, and little elbow room at the bars. Business owners realized they had a seller’s market and priced goods and services accordingly.
After Inez wrangled a last-minute deal with a local liquor wholesaler, she kept Sol busy all day Wednesday taking inventory on the deliveries and stacking crates and kegs nearly to the storeroom ceiling. He tucked the overflow into the kitchen corners, much to Bridgette’s dismay.
The kitchen was hot as Hades on Wednesday, what with Bridgette’s non-stop baking and cooking as she attempted to stay ahead of the demand. She flitted around the scorching stove, uncharacteristically flustered. She burned two batches of biscuits and barely salvaged an oven’s worth of peach pies.
“Lands, Mrs. Stannert.” She wiped the sweat streaming from her face. “My thoughts just keep on wandering. Did you know that my late husband, Mr. O’Malley—God bless him—fought in the war? I’m thinking more on those years now, what with the general coming. We were newlyweds, the two of us. Oh, how Mr. O’Malley would go on about General Grant. He thought the world of him. I hope to get a peek while he’s in town.”
Inez was also distracted, mainly by all the questions and worries crowding her mind, bubbling away like Bridgette’s bottomless stewpot. She poured the wrong liquor more than once throughout the day, and even caught herself providing an inferior grade of bourbon to a visiting toff who had asked, rather snidely, for “the best you have to offer.”
She snatched the drink back before he quaffed it and gave him the better brand, snapping, “Wouldn’t want you to think that’s the best the Silver Queen has in the house.”
When they locked up that night, Inez asked Abe if he’d walk her home.
“Sure thing. Seems like you’ve a powerful lot on your mind, judging by today. And tomorrow’s shaping up even busier. The town’s bustin’ at the seams.”
Abe and Inez stood outside the door for a moment, watching the men pass by, many of them with the desperate look of no place to sleep that night.
Abe continued, “We could rent space on the saloon floor, the next few nights. Sol and I could take turns stayin’ in. We’d do well at a dollar a head.”
“If you think so.”
Abe looked at her. “Sounds like your mind’s not entirely on business, judgin’ by the lukewarm reception of my surefire idea. So what’s botherin’ you, Mrs. Stannert?”
They started walking up Harrison. Slowly, because of the crush of people.
“I’m feeling more and more uneasy about Grant’s visit. There’s something afoot, but I can’t pin it down. Remember Delaney, the railroad man who held the gun on Taps and started the whole ruckus last week?”
“Not likely to forget that.”
“Well, despite all the noises McMurtrie made, Delaney wasn’t fired. He’s not a section boss for the construction crew anymore, but some kind of camp guard. I bumped into him Saturday night when I went looking for Preston—I mean, Mr. Holt. Then, on Sunday, when I was returning from my outing with Mr. Holt, the professor caught up with us outside of town. He’s the railroad clerk I introduced to Jed Elliston, the one working for Lowden Snow, the Rio Grande’s right-of-way lawyer. Well, the professor told Mr. Holt that Delaney’d been murdered. And that Reuben—the young fellow, Mr. Holt’s nephew, actually—had disappeared. I fear what happened to Eli Carter is tied to all this. Preston—I mean, Mr. Holt—said he’d be back to talk to me about what’s going on. But I’ve yet to see him. It’s been two days, and I’d think—”
“Lord, Inez. You lost me on that road somewheres at the start.”
“I feel like that too, sometimes. That I’m riding down a road on a cloudy night. Every once in a while, the moon peeks through, and I see a landmark, a glimmer, and I think I know where I’m headed. Then it all goes dark again.”
When they reached Fourth Street, Inez sighed. “Would you mind if we walked up Harrison a bit further? If I can better explain what I think is going on, you might have some insights. Oh, I wish Reverend Sands were here!”
“You do?” There was a note of skepticism in Abe’s voice.
“I have a sneaking suspicion he’s embroiled in this. He’s doing something for Palmer and the railroad, I believe. He wasn’t very specific.” With a twinge, she remembered how she’d cut that conversation short. “He sent me a short letter from Colorado Springs, saying he’d be coming back with Grant and Palmer. I wonder—” She stopped on the boardwalk. Turned to Abe. “Wait. What did you mean by that tone of voice?”
“Yep, you’re definitely distracted. Otherwise you’d of snapped back at me a whole lot quicker.” Abe took another step, urging her to continue walking.
They had left the gaslights behind and were nearly at the foot of Capitol Hill. The crowds had thinned considerably, and the city noise as well. Inez became aware of the gurgling sound of water in the ditch nearby.
“I’m wonderin’, between Preston—I mean, Mr. Holt.” He gently mimicked her. “And the reverend, which one you’re hopin’ to see first.”
“That’s not…I don’t want to talk about it.”
Or think about it.
“Yes. Ma’am.” Abe looked down Ninth, little more than a dirt path with a few houses dotted along its length. “Just seems, you’re not doin’ yourself or them any favors by hedging your bets.”
“I am not—”
A gunshot echoed off the nearby hills. Followed by a second. And a third.
A figure was running down Ninth toward them, shouting and waving.
Inez became aware of the sharp smell of acrid wood smoke, just before she heard the dreaded shout, “Fire!”
A cluster of men approaching from Capitol Hill stopped talking. Someone hollered back, “Where?”
The fellow stopped in the intersection, panting, hands on knees. “Twelfth and Poplar! Someone’s going for a fire alarm box, but we need all the help we can get. The horses….”
The horses!
Electric fear coursed through Inez. She clutched Abe’s arm. “The livery!”
“C&H Livery, that’s the one,” gasped the runner. “I’ve got to get more men.” He headed down Harrison at a trot, fired his pistol again, shouting, “Fire! Up on Twelfth!”
The central fire bell downtown began to ring an alarm, its clangs echoing over the city, telegraphing the fire’s location to the volunteer firemen.
“Lucy!” Inez set out at a dead run up Ninth toward Poplar.
Abe, wheezing, caught up. “Inez! Easy! We’ll get there. Won’t help if we break our necks doing it.”
She could see the strange otherworldly glow cast by unseen flames and the flickering of bright yellow tongues skyward.
They ran on, saving breath for speed. The smell of burning wood, leather, oats, hair, and, most ominously, flesh filled their lungs and the midnight air.
They arrived at the livery, a scene of shouting men, screaming horses, and ghastly orange and yellow flames licking up the back and roof of the structure. Thick smoke roiled up into the dark sky and down into the street.
Men dashed into the livery, emerging with horses, mules, dragging tack and the occasional cart or carriage.
The first of the volunteer fire companies had arrived and were battling the flames as best they could with buckets and hoses. Inez saw shadowy figures with shovels dash behind the structure to dig a firebreak.
Inez pushed through the crowd only to be driven back by a policeman trying to maintain order.
“My horse!” she screamed at him.
“All the ones that are getting out alive are got!” he shouted back. “Over there!” He pointed up Twelfth, away from the fire.
Inez pelted up and around the corner to find a melee of frightened horses and mules. Those with halters or ropes were tied to trees, stumps, fence posts, wagons, whatever was stationary and available. A nearby corral held a few more—but still, the total was much less than the original population. The smell of burnt hair and seared flesh was strong. Men moved among the terrified animals, covering eyes with water-soaked shirts, feed sacks, odd bits of material to keep them from spooking further. Some of the animals had horse blankets and sacks on their backs as protection from flying cinders.
Inez searched the street, staying a careful distance from the hooves of still panicked animals. The light from the flames glossed their coats, highlighted the occasional rolling eye, threw long crazy shadows everywhere.
Then, secured to a picket fence, a familiar shape emerged, a black shadow in the darkness, blanket on her back.
“Lucy!” Inez fell upon her horse.
Lucy started, then calmed, still trembling, at Inez’s touch and voice.
“Thank God,” Inez whispered fervently. “You’re safe!”
Lucy’s lathered coat steamed into the cool night air. Inez squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears in as she stroked Lucy’s muzzle, her quivering neck and withers. Inez’s hand moved to the blanket on Lucy’s back—and stopped.
A tactile memory emerged.
Loose woven cloth, sliding through fingers.
Inez opened her eyes. In the flickering demon light of the burning livery, she saw a flag of the Confederacy spread across Lucy’s back. Inez ran her hand over it again, as if in a dream.
“You’re damn lucky, Mrs. Stannert,” Hollis bellowed in her ear. “You can thank Jack for savin’ your horse, when he mighta saved—” He stopped. “So that’s where it went!” And tried to yank the flag off Lucy’s back.
“No!” Inez grabbed hold of the cloth, prepared for a tug-of-war.
“No? Whaddya mean ‘No!’? Goddamned Rio Grande. First they destroy my haulin’ business. Then they burn my livery to the ground ’cause of the right-of-way. Oh, mebbe not Snow hisself, but you can bet your ass he gave the order! Bet they think I’ll give up now, sell out, and crawl away. Hell, they don’t know shit about Texans! Damn ’em t’ hell for burnin’ my building, killin’ my mules and horses that never did no one no harm!”
Stunned, Inez realized that Hollis’ face, streaked with soot, was also streaked with tears.
“Bastards! Every one of ’em!” he roared. “If I see Snow, I’ll cut off his ears. And you will damn well let go of my flag!”
“Hollis!” she roared back. “I don’t want your damn flag! I need to borrow it until tomorrow, to see, to see…Hollis! Did Eli ever talk about a brotherhood? Bound by the flag or pieces of it?”
Hollis stopped pulling. His face, mottled by shadows of the dying flames, went slack with shock. Then, his mouth clamped shut under his singed mustache. His eyes narrowed.
And he said, “Oh. Hell.”
“Did the big fire wake you last night, Mrs. Stannert?” Sol greeted Inez as she dragged into the Silver Queen early Thursday morning. “First that, with the alarm and all. Then, the guns early this morning, so everyone could rise and shine to prepare for the big day. Sunrise came awfully fast after last night.”
Inez’s eyes felt as if river sand had been ground into them. Pebbles and all. She wasn’t about to tell Sol that her lack of sleep had nothing to do with Grant’s arrival that day, and all to do with the fire, and then with the questions and fears that plagued her. One of the foremost being:
How can I reach Preston Holt if he doesn’t come into town? I’ll never find him if I go riding about. And I can’t do that anyway. Not today.
She’d been out of the saloon far too much of late and was determined to pull her own weight on this, what was bound to be one of the busiest days of the year. No matter what. She just hoped that her upcoming conversation with Hollis would yield some hard answers and the time to deal with them.
“I counted thirty-eight guns in that salute,” Sol said in an unbearably cheerful tone. One for each state in the Union. I heard they’re going to fire a thirteen-gun salute at noon, and one hundred and one when he arrives.”
Inez pressed a palm against her pounding forehead, wondering how she was going to survive the barrage of salutatory gunfire scheduled for the day.
“Since you and Mr. Jackson are here, I’ll get busy outside hanging the last banner over the door and nailing fir boughs around the frame. I could put some bunting above the windows maybe, and—”
“Sol, I know you’ll do us proud.” She clutched Hollis’ folded-up flag in her arms, anxious to get upstairs.
Sol went outside, then popped back in before the door stopped swinging. “That your horse out there at the hitchrack?”
“Yes. She was in the livery that burned last night. I want to keep her nearby for just a while. I’ll need to check whether the livery around the corner has room for her. If you’d just keep an eye on her, let me know if she gets nervous. Oh! And the livery owner, Bart Hollis, will be by soon. He’s bringing my tack. What’s left of it. Please send him up to the office.”
“Sure thing.”
She poured herself a cup of coffee and told Abe she’d be upstairs. Once in the office, she looked around for a place to unfold the flag. It didn’t seem proper to put it on the floor, so she draped it over the office’s loveseat. The edging, which could have been tan or a very dirty or faded orange, paraded around the outside of the flag. Its red field was slashed with a diagonal cross of blue, edged in white. Three white stars marched along each of the four arms, a single star in the intersection. This symbol of the attempted secession of the thirteen states seemed part of a past that had eluded her entirely.
My parents never talked about the war. At least, in front of Harmony and me. What a sheltered life we led. I was just a chit of a girl. It all seemed so distant. Stories in the newspapers. Popular songs. But nothing to do with me.
Thinking on Hollis’ reaction last night, she sighed. All the comments, discussions, arguments, remembrances of the war that had been flying about her for nearly a month. All that explosive emotion, stored in a piece of fabric.
She examined the flag. The stars seemed larger on Hollis’ flag than the stars on the cloth strips or the one she’d seen in Reuben’s photocase.
Inez went to her dressing room and retrieved the two strips of bunting: the one found by the river, the other from Eli’s saddlebag. She unfurled them both and draped them on the flag, trying to match up positions.
Aside from a different colored border, the strips matched the design of Hollis’ flag. But they seemed from a smaller version, as if someone had sized down Hollis’ flag and then cut it into pieces. And given it a different colored border.
Eli’s strip fit to one side of the center star. The other piece, its white edging bordering one long side, seemed to belong at the flag’s leading edge. Provided one took into account the missing star.
I’ll bet this strip belonged to Hiram Holt. And the missing star is the lining in Reuben’s photocase. The photocase that holds an image of his father and Eli Carter.
If all the pieces were the same width.…
She measured with her eyes.
It would take seven to make the flag whole.
A knock at the door broke her reverie.
“Come in.”
Hollis and One-Eyed Jack entered, bringing the heavy stale scent of the stable fire with them. Hollis dumped what was left of Inez’s tack—her astride saddle and a jangle of stirrups, bridle, and bit—inside the door. Jack added a singed horse blanket. They lingered by the door, as if uncertain of their welcome.
Hollis’ clothes were clean but ill-fitting, much too baggy for his snake-like frame—no doubt offerings from one of the various relief societies from around town, or maybe a sympathetic friend. His face was cleaned up from the previous night, but its usual pinched contours were even tighter, due most likely to exhaustion, grief, and anger over the blaze, rather than anything to do with her.
Jack, on the other hand, looked as if he’d been nearly barbecued. The long scraggly hair under his dented derby was considerably shorter on one side. His eyebrows were gone. The coal-black beard as well. Seeing Jack’s naked face was nearly as much of a shock to Inez as if he’d strolled into her office in the altogether. His face was reddened and blistered, the single eye blinked, forlorn and bloodshot, the patch still intact over the empty socket of its mate.
Inez nodded at the clean glasses she’d set out on her end table and held up a sealed bottle of Jack Daniels. A mute truce in the ongoing verbal scuffles between herself and the ex-marshal.
Hollis hesitated, as if unconvinced the temporary truce between them wasn’t some kind of trick. He finally hobbled forward. His fancy boots, Inez noted, had been saved from the fire, but barely, and looked the worse for wear.
Hollis and Jack each retrieved a glass. Jack also brought one over for Inez. She filled them all, and they drank.
The sensory blast that comes with high-proof alcohol cleared throats and loosened tongues all around.
Hollis moved over to the sofa and raised his half-empty glass in salute. “T’ the battle flag of the Army of Northern Virginia.”
He then craned his neck to peer at the overlaid patchwork strips. “Hmpf. Where’d you get these? I’m guessin’ they’re from a cavalry flag.”
“One is Eli’s,” said Inez.
Hollis grunted. “So, how’d you hear ’bout the flag, that brotherhood, an’ all?” He teetered back on charred boot heels, eyes half-lidded. Inez was reminded of a snake wavering, trying to decide whether to strike or just slither on by.
“I didn’t. Not really. But I’ve been trying to put together the bits and pieces.” She gestured at the remnants. “The longer one is Eli’s. I found it….” She stopped, not wanting to unbalance the tenuous peace she’d forged with Hollis by letting him know she’d snooped around. “I found the other by the river. Near where Eli met a man, possibly Hiram Holt from Missouri.”
“Hiram Holt?” Hollis frowned.
Inez leaned forward. “What can you tell me?”
He hesitated, pulling on the shortened end of his mustache.
She set the bottle down. “Look, Hollis. This all ties into the Denver and Rio Grande’s arrival here in Leadville. And generals from the war. The Rio Grande, as you know, is headed by General Palmer. General Grant’s arriving on the Rio Grande train today. Are there other generals about? I don’t know. But something’s afoot, and I don’t think it’s good. I know you’re unhappy with the Rio Grande, especially with the arson of your livery. And most likely you’re not happy about Grant’s visit either. But the war, it all happened long ago. And the train’s on its way to town. There’s not much time.”
He nodded, silent, then said, “Back when Eli and I met, it was near the end of the war. For some time afterward, we were workin’ the same outfits. What Eli said once was that there was a brotherhood. A group of men. Missourians, mostly from the same battalion. They’d each made a pledge to kill one of the blue-belly generals that helped destroy the Confederacy. And each of the men took a piece of the flag, vowin’ that, when the deeds were done, they’d put the flag back t’gether. Eli told me all this and showed me that there.” He gestured with his empty glass toward the strip of flag. “Crazy talk. We must’ve been tight on some rotgut or other. But at the time, it sounded like a good idea. Get some of the Yanks, like Booth did Lincoln. Like I said, crazy talk. I didn’t think any more of it when I sobered up.”
Inez held out the bottle. He held out his glass. She filled it again.
He continued. “The group was sharpshooters and snipers that turned into hardcases after the war. But that was years ago.” He shook his head. “Eli’d sure had a change of heart by the time I partnered up with him at the livery.”
“He married,” Inez said. “Lillian.”
“Yeah.” Hollis looked at her through slitted eyes. Suspicious again. “Didn’t know you and Eli were on such friendly speakin’ terms.”
“I told her,” Jack mumbled, looking like he very much wished he had his beard to hide behind.
“Well. Don’t make no difference. I never heard Eli talk about it here in Leadville. In fact, he damn near hated hearin’ anything about the war.”
“Did he mention any names from this group?” Inez looked from Hollis to Jack. “Hiram Holt? Brodie Duncan?”
The two men looked at each other.
Hollis frowned. “All’s I know is, a sharpshooter headed it. Some real whingdinger of a shootist. I’d just supposed it all faded away over time. Hell, that’s a long time to keep somethin’ like that a secret. And to carry through.”
“A sharpshooter.” Inez turned the glass in her hand. “Hiram Holt was a Rebel sharpshooter. For the Ninth Missouri. He had a Whitworth and was a crack shot, to hear others tell it.”
Hollis looked at her as if she’d grown an extra set of arms. “Where’d you come by all that? And who’s this Hiram Holt?”
“Maybe the ringleader you spoke of. But he’s gone now. Probably dead. His son carries a photocase with a tintype of Hiram and Eli, side-by-side. Rifles in hand. Eli with that Sharps he took from a dead Union soldier. Hiram with a Whitworth. The case had a single star, like those,” she gestured at the flag, “in its lining.”
“The man. Who brought the Sharps to Eli. Saw him right here.” Jack let out a nearly ignitable burp. “That night.”
“What night?” Inez was nonplussed. Then she remembered the night of the North/South fight in her saloon. Jack, venturing inside the State Street entrance, staring at the men by the Harrison Avenue door, and stepping back out. “The night of the fight here at the saloon?”
“Yep. Came by the livery.” He squinched up his face, apparently calculating, then gave up. “Some time ago.”
“So, which one was he?”
“Big fella. Real big. Whupped the lunatic.”
Inez blinked, incredulous. “Preston Holt? No. It couldn’t be.” She then realized Jack’s error. “Oh! I’ll bet that was Hiram Holt. Preston and Hiram are brothers. I’ve been told they look alike.”
“Saw the other one too.”
“What other one?”
“He waited. Outside. When the big fella brought the Sharps. Looked like he didn’t want t’ been seen. Then, they rode off t’gether.”
“What did he look like?”
“Scrawny. Little beard. Specs.”
“The professor,” she said quietly. Then, “Brodie Duncan.”
Jack shrugged. “Dunno the name. Looked like him. Acted like him. Not wanting to be seen.”
Inez blew out her cheeks in a loud exhale.
So.
The professor, Brodie Duncan, lied. He’s part of this whole racket as well. He came out with Hiram and just got a different job with the railroad. One better suited to his talents, no doubt.
“I can’t picture Brodie Duncan as a sharpshooter.” She shook her head. “The war doesn’t seem to drive him, the way it does the others.”
“Well, mebbe they’re all gone now, this brotherhood.” Hollis put down his glass. “Unless you’re wrong, Miz Stannert, and that Duncan fella’s one of them.”
“Maybe.” Inez was quiet a moment. “But consider. If the other flag strips are the same size, there are five more around somewhere. Maybe the men who took those pieces have thrown them out, or folded them away and forgotten them. But maybe not. Maybe those men are still living as if the past fifteen years have never been.”
