Searching for Silverheels Read online

  “That’s why they both stayed. To get the gold before the other could. To outdo each other, maybe even to win each other. If you want to call that true love, Pearl, be my guest.”

  I shook my head. Josie’s story was full of flaws. If Sefa Weldon had had the cure, why did both Eli and Buck die? And where would Prairie Rose Weldon have gotten the cure to give it to her daughter in the winter, when there were no plants to be gathered? And I had learned in school that Indian tribes had been destroyed by smallpox epidemics. Indians had no resistance to it and died by the hundreds, so how could Prairie Rose have had a cure for it from the plants of the forest? I was getting ready to drill Josie with these questions, when I heard a train whistle far off across the park.

  The lunch train! I’d lost track of the time with Josie, leaving my mother alone to prepare at the café, and the lunch train was approaching. I jumped up from my seat.

  “I have to go. Thank you for the tea and pie,” I said, and I hurried to the door. I pulled on my shoes and ran back to the café, expecting my mother to be cross with me for being gone so long. But when I told her where I had been, she smiled.

  “That was very neighborly, Pearl. I think Mrs. Gilbert is a very lonely woman, but too proud to admit it. You’ve done a very kind thing.”

  That was all the time we had for conversation before the train rolled in and the rush began.

  Mother was right, I had been neighborly. And to my surprise, I had even enjoyed talking to Josie, even though I was sure she was wrong. I liked the challenge of trying to outwit her in the storytelling, even if it was all made up. Eventually, I would find the solid proof to prove her wrong. At the very least, I knew someone in Park County knew Buck’s true character, since someone was still cleaning up his grave. And if that someone was Silverheels herself, I could prove it all.

  In the meantime, I would let Josie tell her story and make up her characters like Prairie Rose and Sefa Weldon. I could tell she wanted me to see myself in the girl. Sefa was well-mannered and obedient, and was sweet on a handsome fella with a glamorous smile. All things that Josie had criticized in me. I didn’t care. The more she made up to make Silverheels and Buck look bad, the more she would be proven wrong when I found the truth.

  I smiled to myself at the thought. I had never gotten much pleasure out of an argument before. Then again, I had hardly ever argued with anyone before. Not sweet, well-mannered, obedient me. Is this the way Josie felt when she was arguing for her cause? A little shiver went through me at the thought that I was turning into Josie, just a little bit, but to my surprise, it wasn’t an unpleasant realization. I was going to enjoy the shock on Josie’s face when I defeated her. When she discovered that I was not the obedient ninny she thought I was, after all.

  CHAPTER 17

  When we had cleaned up the lunch mess, Mother announced that she was going to the butcher shop. I was surprised. The Schmidts usually delivered our meat.

  “Don’t we already have pork chops and chicken?”

  “I just feel like doing something different. And I want to have a word with Mrs. Schmidt about the picnic,” Mother said, taking off her apron and tidying her hair.

  I didn’t like the sound of that, and I certainly didn’t want any part of it. I wanted to do things that would please George, not upset him. Fortunately, Mother was still pleased with me for being neighborly with Josie that morning, so she didn’t insist. Instead, she asked me to go to the post office to pick up our mail.

  This was a task I was happy to do. The post office was in the back corner of Crawford’s Mercantile, so I might run into George while I was there. Plus, this was my chance to continue my search for someone who knew Buck Wilson. If anyone named Wilson had ever lived in or around Como, the postmistress, Mrs. Abernathy would know and would be happy to tell me about them. Knowing everyone’s name and address was her job; knowing their business, and sharing it, was her favorite pastime.

  The store was a long narrow building, with a counter and shelves lining one wall and the post office in a small booth in the opposite back corner. The floor in between was filled with various shelves, barrels, crates, and racks of goods. Mr. Crawford was behind the counter, stacking cans of beans on the shelf. Mrs. Crawford was near the door, talking to Mrs. Johnson. She gave me a suspicious look and stopped talking when I entered. I gave her a polite smile and walked to the back corner. Once I was past them, Mrs. Crawford resumed her conversation in a whisper, so I knew they were gossiping.

  “Good afternoon, Pearl,” said Mrs. Abernathy cheerfully, handing me our mail—a single bill and a copy of the Fairplay Flume, the weekly paper that carried all the local news.

  I thanked her, then posed my question. “Mrs. Abernathy, I was up at Buckskin Joe a few days back—”

  “With that handsome city fella. I know.” She winked and smiled at me. Mrs. Abernathy was an older lady whose children were all grown up, and when she winked, the wrinkles of her face bunched up until it looked like she had no eyes at all.

  “Yes, with Frank,” I said, relieved that George wasn’t within hearing. “And when we went over to the cemetery, we saw that the grave of a Buck Wilson had been tended recently.”

  “So now you’re wondering if Silverheels receives her mail here?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you know any Wilsons around here. Any friends or relatives who might go up there and tend the grave.”

  She shook her head. “No Wilsons get their mail here. There’s a Wilson family over in Leadville, or used to be. Then again, Wilson is a pretty common name.”

  I nodded and thanked her, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice, but not quite managing it. I turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” Mrs. Abernathy said.

  I turned back.

  She tapped her chin. “It just occurred to me. Mrs. Engel’s maiden name was Wilson. And she’s been in Park County a good long while.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy,” I said. A new lead, and one I could follow up on! Mrs. Engel’s millinery shop was just across the street. I turned, meaning to go directly there, when George came through the front door.

  “Hello, Pearl. Where are you headed?” he asked.

  Funny, but now that he was here, I couldn’t quite recall. In fact, I didn’t want to go anywhere at all.

  “Nowhere, really,” I said.

  “Do you have to get back to work?”

  “No, I have the afternoon off.” I gave him a little smile and hoped he would take it as an invitation for an invitation.

  “Well, then maybe we could go for a walk along the creek,” he suggested.

  “I’d like that. Very much.” I couldn’t think of anything more romantic than a walk along the creek. Maybe my first kiss wouldn’t be at the kissing booth after all. Maybe it would be a perfect, romantic kiss, amid wildflowers and sunshine and twittering birds. Maybe it would be today.

  George held the door for me and we stepped out of the store. Just outside, he slipped his arm around my waist. I liked the feel of it there, strong and protective. I liked being out on the street, too, where everyone could see handsome George Crawford claiming me as his own.

  The moment was ruined a few seconds later when I looked up and saw Josie Gilbert stumping up the street toward us, a scowl on her face. George saw her too, and the arm around my waist tightened. Her eyes were on the ground in front of her, and for a moment, I hoped she might not see us and we could just go the other direction. My hope was shattered when George spoke, plenty loud enough for Josie to hear.

  “Well, look who’s here. The kaiser’s handmaiden.”

  Shocked by his words, I pulled away, but his hand at my side held me firm. I looked up at his face. His beautiful smile had slipped into a sneer as he looked at Josie.

  Josie didn’t acknowledge his words, not exactly. She looked up at him, then at me, and her eyebrows raised.

  “Come on, George. Let’s just go for that walk,” I said.

  “What’s your rush, Pearl?” Geor
ge said. We were still standing in front of the mercantile’s front door, and now Josie had come to a stop right in front of us.

  “Get out of the way, boy. I need to get my mail,” Josie said.

  “You might want to get a newspaper, too,” George replied, not moving. “There’s an interesting piece about those National Women’s Party friends of yours. Arrested and sent to jail. And it’s about time.”

  Josie pushed past him and through the front door without a response.

  “Come on, George, let’s just go, before she comes back out,” I said again.

  “You have to stand up to seditionists, Pearl. My mother says true patriots have to fight the war here at home, too.”

  “I thought we were taking a walk,” I said.

  “You think taking a walk is more important than protecting our country?”

  “Of course not! But arguing with Josie —”

  “You’re not defending her, are you?”

  “No! George, I—”

  “Then prove it,” he said. “Here she comes.”

  I looked through the doorway into the store. It had been open the whole time. Josie—and everyone else inside—had heard our whole conversation. The blood rushed to my face as Josie raised her eyes to mine. Her gaze was filled with as much challenge as George’s voice had been.

  “I— I—” I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Instead I jerked out of George’s grasp and backed three steps out into the street. “I just remembered. I have to help my mother,” I said. I spun around and ran for the café.

  I didn’t look back when I got home. I rushed inside and straight up to my bedroom, where I threw myself onto the bed and burst into tears. I had been on the verge of the best moment of my life; why did Josie Gilbert have to come along just then? Now George might never kiss me. He might even decide he didn’t want to go to the picnic with me!

  I stayed in my hot, stuffy bedroom all afternoon, until my mother called me down to help serve supper. I felt miserable, but I tried to smile and be polite to the customers. I was relieved that neither Josie nor the Crawfords came in. I wasn’t sure how I was going to face any of them, and I was in no hurry to find out.

  After supper, Mr. and Mrs. Engel arrived in the café. Mrs. Engel was showing off the hat that she was donating to be raffled at the picnic. It was a broad-brimmed summer hat, festooned with a navy-blue ribbon embroidered with white stars. Two enormous blue ostrich plumes swept from the front along either side of the crown in a glorious arc. It was so lovely that all the ladies in the café that evening bought raffle tickets at once.

  When the fuss over the hat settled down, Mr. and Mrs. Engel chose a table and ordered coffee and pie. I was cutting the pie for them when I remembered what the postmistress had told me that afternoon.

  So, when I delivered the pie, I asked, “Mrs. Engel, when I was up at Buckskin Joe earlier this week, I saw that someone had tended the grave of a fellow named Buck Wilson. Would you know anything about that?”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “Why would I know anything about that?”

  “Mrs. Abernathy at the post office said your maiden name was Wilson. I thought he might have been a relative of yours.”

  “Mrs. Abernathy’s memory isn’t what it used to be. My maiden name was Wilkins, not Wilson,” Mrs. Engel said.

  I suppressed a sigh of frustration. Another dead end. “You have been in Park County a long time, right? Do you know any Wilsons, or someone who might be keeping up that grave?”

  “Let’s see. Old Tom Lee knew all about that sort of thing. He even claimed to have known Silverheels.”

  “He knew her?”

  “So he claimed, but he moved down to Denver.” She thought for another minute, then snapped her fingers. “Mae Nelson, down in Fairplay! She grew up in Buckskin Joe. You should talk to her.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” I said. Excitement was building inside me as I returned the coffeepot to the stove. At last—someone who remembered Silverheels herself!

  Tom Lee was in Denver—and so was Frank! Surely Frank would be willing to find him and talk to him.

  I was impatient after that to finish my evening’s work. When I had, I composed two letters. The first was a short note to Mrs. Nelson in Fairplay to thank her for helping Frank and me and to ask her if she had thought of anyone else who still cared for the graves in the Buckskin Joe cemetery. Perhaps with a little prompting she would think of something she hadn’t told us and would write me back.

  The second letter was the more important one, and I wasted two sheets of paper before I thought of just how I wanted to word it. After all, this letter was to Frank. I didn’t want to sound like an ignorant hayseed, but I didn’t want it to be too formal, either. I wanted him to feel a tender friendship for me as he read it, but it was hard to know exactly what words would make him feel that way. Especially since I was really writing to ask him to do me a favor. I was writing to ask him to find Mr. Tom Lee, the man who had moved to Denver. The man who remembered Silverheels. The man who was my best hope to prove Silverheels a hero, once and for all!

  CHAPTER 18

  Josie did not come into the café the next morning. I was glad. I knew I had to face her again eventually, and when I did, I would have to apologize, but I was in no hurry. First, I would apologize to George. Maybe see if he wanted to take that walk today. Praying he wouldn’t tell me he was going to the picnic with someone else, I headed to the mercantile the first chance I got, with the excuse that I had to post my letters.

  George was stocking shelves for his father when I entered. I smiled as I passed him on my way to the post office in the back corner. I slid the two letters across the counter to Mrs. Abernathy along with my four cents for the postage.

  That done, I took a deep breath and walked directly to where George was working. He gave me his usual, knee-weakening smile.

  “George, about yesterday,” I began.

  “It’s okay, Pearl.”

  “It is?”

  “Josie Gilbert scares a lot of people. But when you’re with me, you don’t have to be frightened, okay? I’ll protect you.”

  “Thank you, George,” I said, relieved but a little annoyed. I wasn’t afraid of Josie!

  George squeezed my hand. “I’ve got to help my father, but see you later, okay?”

  I nodded and left the store, grinning. George was still mine! He even wanted to protect me, which, I reminded myself, was very romantic, even if I didn’t need protecting from Josie Gilbert.

  I was almost back to the café when Imogene burst out of its front door, skipped into the street, and, flinging her arms wide, twirled around like a little girl.

  “What’s gotten into you?” I asked.

  She skipped over and threw her arms around me in a huge embrace. “He asked me,” she said. “He asked me to the picnic!”

  “Willie?” I couldn’t believe it. I had never once seen him respond to Imogene’s flirting or hinting.

  “Of course Willie. Who else?”

  “Congratulations, Imogene,” I said as I recovered from my surprise. “Does this mean we won’t be doing the kissing booth after all?”

  Imogene giggled. “Of course we’ll still do the kissing booth. That won’t be until after we eat, anyway. And I’ll give Willie a nickel and make sure he’s first in line. You have a nickel for George, don’t you?”

  I smiled and nodded. I would be sure he had several.

  Imogene, still floating on air, danced off toward the hotel. I watched her go, then floated in my own direction, into the café.

  Mother was wiping down the tables, which was usually my job. I offered to take over from her, but she sent me to the kitchen to help Willie instead. I found him at the sink up to his elbows in suds. He glanced up at me as I came in, but said nothing and kept washing. He didn’t look nearly as happy as Imogene had.

  I took up a towel and began drying the stacks of plates and cups. When I had dried three or four items and he still hadn’t spoken, I asked.
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  “Imogene says you asked her to the Fourth of July picnic.”

  Willie nodded. “Yep.”

  I dried two plates in silence.

  “She sure is excited,” I said.

  Willie shrugged. “She’s been angling for it for months.”

  “I didn’t think you were going to ask her. You never seem a bit interested.”

  He chewed his lip and said nothing.

  I gave him a hard look. “Willie, what’s wrong?”

  “Russell said he heard that a couple fellas in Fairplay have been drafted. And Raymond Buford and Oliver McPherson have both enlisted. Neither one of them is more than a year older than me.”

  “You’re not thinking of enlisting, are you? You’re only seventeen, and besides, we need you here.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t enlist until I’m eighteen. Thank goodness.” He glanced guiltily at me before he continued. “I don’t ever want to go to war. I don’t want to shoot the Huns and I don’t want them shooting me, either. I ain’t a coward, Pearl, but it makes a fella stop and think.”

  “What does this have to do with Imogene and the picnic?”

  “I figure in these times, a fella’s got to do all the living he can, because none of us know how long we’ve got. I want to try out everything. Just in case.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I held my tongue.

  Willie washed the last few dishes and wiped the suds off his arms. “And don’t you tell a soul I said any of this, Perline, or I’ll give you a whupping. I won’t have folks calling me a coward!”

  “I won’t. I swear!” I said, but he was already headed out the door. I saw him grab his fishing pole from where it leaned against the back wall. He’d disappear for the rest of the day. I couldn’t blame him. I thought about Ray and Ollie going off to war. When I first started school, they had been the big boys at the back that gave the teacher headaches with their tomfoolery. I couldn’t picture them with guns and bayonets. I couldn’t believe, either, that the war had reached us here, in little, out-of-the-way Park County. Here we all were in our sleepy little town where nothing ever changed. Yet as I watched Willie walk away, I realized how very much this war changed everything.