Silver Lies (35 page)

She’d asked the question in jest, to lessen the tension. When Sands looked up, his eyes, shadowed by his hat, looked gray and somber. They lightened briefly as he smiled. "I choose to fight by your side of course, Mrs. Stannert. So tell me. Which side is that?"

"I wasn’t intending to be in the mural."

"I see. Like most generals, you remain apart from the battlefield, plan the strategy, and direct the troops."

The reverend abandoned his chair to survey the painting. "Hell looks like a cold, uninviting place. Heaven doesn’t look much warmer. The Garden is the only hospitable spot on the wall." He glanced at Inez. "Where did you get this vision?"

"From John Milton and Leadville."

Doc twitched in his chair. The noble pose vanished. "Surely you don’t need to ponder, Reverend. You’re a man of God
and
you fought on the side of might and right in the War. Pick the winning side, man."

"In my experience, even the winners end up losing something." Reverend Sands strolled to the bar to inspect the painting up close. "Right or wrong. Win or lose. Black or white. Life’s seldom so simple. In my experience, most choices end up shades of gray."

Inez moved to stand beside him. "In this case, though, there are only two possibilities. Heaven or Hell. No shades of gray."

He walked back and forth, examining the scene. "I’ll be Abdiel. Always faithful to God, yet followed Satan. At least until he defied Satan in the heavenly war."

Llewellyn interjected, "An angel who sneaks into the enemy’s camp? Sounds like a common spy to me."

Sands looked at him. "I see him as delivering the Word to those most in need."

Doc harrumphed. "During the War, those who infiltrated the secessionists’ camps and won their confidence provided an invaluable service to their country." He craned his neck to look at the sketch. "Finished, Mr. Tremayne? I must resume my rounds."

Reverend Sands retrieved his ten-dollar gold piece and returned to Inez. He took her hand, dropped the coin into her palm, and closed her fingers around it.

Still holding her hand, he added, "A pity you won’t consider gracing an angel with your likeness. I can imagine you as one of God’s chosen, sword in hand, secure in your convictions. You’d be most persuasive. I, for one, would follow you without question." He lowered his voice. "Recovered from Saturday?"

The pressure of his hands sent a delicious warmth shooting about inside her and encouraged unangelic thoughts. "Quite, thank you." She cocked her head, eyeing his face for bruises. "And you?"

"Never better. Well, my head is still sore from the pounding on the floor. But I’ve been worse." His hands tightened a moment, before letting go.

She slipped the coin into her pocket.
At least it’s gold and not paper.

Sands continued, "It shouldn’t interfere with the Christmas Eve service. Will you be there?"

Inez nodded.

"Excellent." He rubbed his face where the mustache had once resided, then stopped, mid-gesture. "Remind me never to play cards with you. I’d give myself away in a second. What I was working around to, is, I hope you’ll allow me to walk you home afterward."

"I’d be delighted."

The Christmas Eve service was a tapestry of candlelight, joyful voices raised in familiar song, and the sharp scent of pine boughs. Through it all, Reverend Sands’ smooth voice wove in and out, speaking of the promise the next day would bring.

After the service, Susan Carothers turned to Emma, Joey, and Inez. "Are you sure you won’t come caroling? There are plenty of armed and sober men. It should be safe."

Inez waved her away. "Have a good time, Susan. See you tomorrow."

Reverend Sands strolled up, looking genial and thoroughly in the spirit of the season. He winked at Inez before addressing Emma. "Mrs. Rose, do you need an escort? Mrs. Stannert and I are walking your way."

"No, thank you, Reverend. Mr. Gallagher offered to drive us home."

"And you accepted?" Inez interrupted incredulously.

Emma’s hand strayed briefly to the lap of her coat. "I’ve no energy for walking tonight." The skin around her eyes looked bruised, as if sleep eluded her. Inez remembered her own exhaustion in the early stages of pregnancy and refrained from further comment.

Emma turned to Sands. "Will you join us for supper tomorrow? It will be our last with our Leadville friends. Inez, Susan, and Mr. Jackson will be there."

"I’d enjoy that. Thank you."

Harry approached. "Are you ready, Mrs. Rose?"

Joey spoke, sounding petulant. "I want to walk home with Reverend Sands and Auntie Inez."

A few words into his protest Emma’s hand fell on his small shoulder. Inez could see those gloved fingers tighten in a tactile rebuke, even as she spoke to Harry. "He’s tired and forgets his manners, Mr. Gallagher. We are, of course, grateful for your offer."

Harry’s cold gaze lingered speculatively on Inez before moving to Reverend Sands. It was as if he was summing up earnings and liabilities, expecting a profit, and had discovered a disturbing debit instead.

With worshippers gone, candles extinguished, and church doors locked behind them, Inez and the reverend stepped to the street. "Silent Night" drifted to them, along with the distant tootle of a brass band. Reverend Sands looked up at the ink-black sky, pricked with light. "A beautiful night with a million stars. Any of them bright enough to be the star of Bethlehem."

Inez raised her face to the night, more aware of the vastness of the sky than its beauty. "I’ll miss Emma. I worry how she will manage."

"It’s hard to see friends move on. Rest assured, friendly people await Mrs. Rose at the end of her journey. California will be good for her. A new start." His voice sounded comforting in the dark.

As they stepped into the Harrison Avenue intersection, Inez bent her head to concentrate on her footing. The smooth soles of her Sunday shoes skated on the treacherous ice, throwing her momentarily off balance. She was more than willing to lean on Sands while negotiating the uneven terrain.

With her eyes lowered and the hood of her cloak muffling her ears, she didn’t see or hear the horse careen around the corner at full speed.

"Look out!" Reverend Sands shouted.

He tried to yank Inez across the intersection. Her shoes slipped and she fell to one knee, cushioned by petticoats and skirts.

Inez looked up.

For a heartbeat, she saw the horse rearing above her, moonlight glinting off the pointed studs of winter horseshoes.

Sands wrenched her across the jagged surface, sharp as broken glass. Her shoulder felt as if it was being pulled from the socket. She regained her footing, and they scrambled to the safety of the boardwalk. Sharp cracks rang out behind them. The peaceful spell of Christmas Eve shattered along with the ice in the streets.

"You nearly killed us, you damn fool!" The reverend’s voice was rough with anger.

"Reverend Sands, is that you?" Cat DuBois’ distinct contralto slid across the night air. "My apologies. I’d hoped to run into you after the service, but not quite this way." She reined in the large horse as it pranced in excited circles, smashing broken ice to slush.

Inez gasped freezing air into her lungs, her limbs trembling with a tardy surge of adrenaline.

The horse danced sideways and blew clouds of condensation. Mrs. DuBois, covered neck to ankle in a long fur coat, peered out from under a matching Cossack-style hat. Her eyes reflected the nearby street lamp. Inez was reminded of a winter forest creature—
A fox. Or a weasel.
—peering from its den and sizing up another animal as a possible meal.

"My, my, is that Mrs. Stannert with you? She looks shaken." Cat leaned forward. "You’re not going to
faint
, are you, Mrs. Stannert?"

How I loathe that woman.

Cat returned her attention to the reverend. "I’m sorry the girls and I missed the service, but we’re very busy tonight. All the poor men so far from wives and sweethearts on the holiday. We do our Christian best to offer them comfort and solace." She pulled a small white envelope from her coat and

held it out to Sands. "For you."

He didn’t move. "What is it, Mrs. DuBois, a Christmas card?"

"A Christmas card? Oh, how droll!" Cat’s laughter climbed up and down the scale. "No, no, my dear Reverend Sands. It’s a special invitation, extended to a very select few. A small party’s planned for midnight tonight with refreshments and entertainment. We hope you’ll attend. Special rates for the clergy. And, I should tell you…" Her tone dropped, becoming as intimate as the touch of a satin sheet. "After your last visit, the girls were so impressed they voted you their most favorite man of God."

"If I impressed all you ladies so much, I hope to see more of you at church services in the future." His tone walked the line of studied courtesy.

"Join us tonight and I promise you’ll see much more of us." Her eyes measured him approvingly, as she tapped the envelope against her lips. She finally tucked the invitation back inside her coat. "Well, no need for this. When you come, say that I extended an invitation to you. In person."

With a final glance at Inez, Cat DuBois reined her horse about and trotted back down Harrison.

Inez couldn’t help but think of the bedraggled appearance she presented next to the elegant Mrs. DuBois, who was riding away as sedately as an Englishwoman to the hunt. She finally became aware that Sands was repeating "Are you all right?"

"I am not about to faint, if that’s what you’re thinking." Her palm stung. She flexed her gloved hand, trying to dispel the twinge.

"I wasn’t thinking that at all. I was concerned about your shoulder. Sorry about dragging you across the road. But I figured that was better than the alternative. Did you hurt your hand?" He took her hand in his.

Inez pulled away. "Her carelessness nearly killed us."

"Is that what you’re angry about?"

"She’s an expert in the saddle, or so I hear." Inez gritted her teeth at the unintended double entendre and then identified the deeper source of her fury.

She took a couple of steps. Her shoes were scuffed beyond repair.

Sands kept pace with her, watching her intently. "I won’t be taking her up on the invitation. That goes without saying. So, does that tight-lipped expression I see have to do with my ‘previous visit’ with Mrs. DuBois?"