Searching for Silverheels Page 18

  When he was gone, I looked back to Josie. She was glaring after him.

  “We just want to help,” I said.

  “I don’t need anybody’s help.” She sounded like a pouting child.

  “Is there anything you do need?” I asked.

  She looked up at me. A little smirk curled one corner of her mouth. “You never told me what you thought of my penny dreadful, girl.”

  “Penny dreadful?”

  “The True Account of Silverheels. I’ve kept the plates. I’m thinking of sending it off to the Denver Post, or the Rocky Mountain News. Who knows, maybe the New York Times has room for a new serial.”

  I stared, blinking. I couldn’t believe she was bringing that up, of all things, when she was in jail! Besides, it didn’t matter anymore. Not since I’d gotten the letter from Frank.

  “Well?” she snapped. “Cat got your tongue, girl?”

  I sighed, feeling trapped, even though she was the one in jail.

  “We’re both wrong. Frank talked to a man, Mr. Lee, who lived in Buckskin Joe and knew Silverheels. None of it is true. She was just an ordinary person.”

  Josie rolled her eyes. “Tom Lee was a fool. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

  “You know Tom Lee?”

  “Stories get around the park, you know that.”

  “But he remembers her,” I said.

  The guard at the prisoners’ door called out that visiting time was nearly over.

  “Josie, we came to help you get out of trouble. The Crawfords say—”

  “Honestly, Pearl. The Crawfords? When are you going to stop bothering with those busybodies?”

  “But what about your defense tomorrow? They sent evidence against you!”

  Josie stood and looked down at me. “Can you disprove my version of events in Buckskin Joe or can’t you, girl? If you can’t, I claim the victory.”

  A guard waved her into line with the other prisoners. She sneered at me over her shoulder as she was marched out.

  Russell was waiting for me outside on the steps of the jail. He took one look at my face and grinned.

  “Looks like she got to you, too.”

  I nodded, still too frustrated to speak.

  “Well, let’s go back and see Frank. He’ll cheer you up.”

  Frank was waiting for us on the porch steps, tossing a baseball lazily into the air and catching it in his bare hand. He set it down and got to his feet when he saw us.

  “You didn’t get her out?” he asked, but I could see he wasn’t a bit surprised.

  I shook my head. “What do you think will happen when she goes to court tomorrow?”

  “Don’t worry, I suspect they’ll let her off with a fine and a slap on the wrist,” Russell said.

  “Come on,” Frank said. “Supper’s not ready yet. Let me show you around.”

  Russell said he preferred to sit out the hot afternoon on the shaded porch, but I could tell from the smile he gave us he was letting Frank and me have some time alone.

  We wandered together down the sidewalk toward the busy streets of downtown, where Frank pointed out local landmarks. I tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but I was distracted by his nearness as we walked. His skin radiated the warmth of the July day, and gave off a clean, city-boy scent. He might not be as good-looking as George Crawford, yet being near him felt so much warmer and more comfortable.

  After a while we came to a patch of green grass with a shaded bench. We sat, and Frank took my hand.

  “Pearl, are you angry with me?” he asked.

  I turned to him in surprise. “Of course not. I’m so grateful you told us about Josie. She didn’t tell anyone in town where she was going. We wouldn’t have known without your telegram.”

  “I don’t mean about that. I mean about talking to Mr. Lee.”

  “Oh.” I hoped my disappointment didn’t show on my face, but it must have, because Frank lowered his eyes from mine.

  “I’m sorry, Pearl. I ruined everything. I didn’t want to tell you, but I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you either.”

  I squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’m glad you wrote me.”

  “But what Mr. Lee said did spoil things, didn’t it.”

  I shrugged and looked away at the cars again. It was the only way I could make myself look like it wasn’t important. “I don’t know. Josie says Mr. Lee is a fool. That he can’t be trusted.”

  “You told Josie about my letter?”

  “Sort of . . .” I said. “She asked me for . . . She’s interested, that’s all.”

  “She didn’t seem that interested when I was up in Como. She said the story was cockamamie.”

  “She just sees things differently.” I hadn’t told anyone about what I had been doing with Josie, but suddenly I wanted to. I wanted to tell Frank. I took a deep breath. “Josie thinks Silverheels was a thief.”

  “What?”

  “She thinks Silverheels only stayed so she could claim the gold that belonged to all those dying miners. They were all so in love with her that they believed her when she promised to send it to their families. Then she only pretended to get sick and ran away with all the gold.”

  Frank looked at me, his expression sour. “I think I like Mr. Lee’s story better. How does Josie know that? She told me she came to Como about twenty years ago.”

  “She did. She just made it up.”

  “Why does she want to ruin the story?”

  It was a good question—why had Josie started the competition with me? I thought back to how it began. It was the day Frank had first come to Como and I had just told them the legend the way I had always heard it.

  “She doesn’t like the idea that Silverheels did it all for love. That she sacrificed herself out of love.”

  “What’s she got against love?” Frank said. “I think love is a fine reason to take action, don’t you?” He leaned in close to me, an invitation.

  “I do,” I said, and taking the invitation, I kissed him.

  CHAPTER 26

  It was a perfect kiss. His lips were soft and warm, and felt like sunshine on my mouth. Even after the kiss ended, the sunshine lingered, warm and glowing under every inch of my skin.

  I floated on clouds all the way back to his house, my hand in his. I should have been thinking about Josie and her court date tomorrow, but all I could think about was love, and Frank’s kiss, and the giddy joy of being near him.

  At supper I met Frank’s whole family—his mother, father, and five sisters. Annie, the oldest, was warm and friendly to me, as if we had been dear friends in Como. Here with his family she put on none of the airs I had seen when she was with Robert. I liked this Annie much better.

  After supper the whole family went out onto the porch with iced tea. All the girls were knitting socks and caps for the Red Cross to send to soldiers.

  “Frank tells me he had a fine time with your family in the mountains,” his mother said to me, her knitting needles clacking steadily.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “At least, I hope he did. I had a fine time with him.” As soon as I said it, I had to turn away so she wouldn’t see me blush at how it sounded.

  Mr. Sanford smiled. “He couldn’t stop talking about that wonderful mystery of Silverheels you told him. He’s been trying to figure it out since he got back.”

  “Say, did you bring that picture Mae Nelson gave you?” Russell said.

  “A picture?” Frank said, sitting up straighter. “Of Silverheels? You didn’t tell me you brought a picture.”

  “No, it’s not Silverheels. It’s Tom Lee’s old school picture.” I retrieved the old photograph from my suitcase. Back out on the front porch I handed it to Frank. He bent close over it, examining it carefully, from the woman in the back to the blurred children in the front.

  “That’s Tom Lee,” I said, pointing to the boy. “And this beside him is Eliza Carlisle, Mrs. Nelson’s mother.”

  “Say, she lives in Denver now too,
doesn’t she?” Frank asked.

  I nodded.

  “So she must remember Silverheels too.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Mrs. Nelson never said anything about that.”

  “But Mr. Lee says that when he was growing up, Silverheels still lived in South Park on her ranch. And if they grew up together, Mrs. Carlisle must have known her too.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I said, looking again at the photograph. “They are the same age.”

  “We have to go talk to her, Pearl. Tomorrow, while you’re still here.”

  “But Josie’s hearing is tomorrow.”

  “Not till the afternoon. We could go see Mrs. Carlisle in the morning. It will be fun.”

  I wasn’t sure how fun it would be. I didn’t want to hear more about how uninteresting the truth was. But I agreed, because it would mean a morning with Frank.

  The meeting with Mrs. Nelson’s mother was quickly and easily arranged, since Frank’s family had a telephone, and so, apparently, did Mrs. Carlisle. Russell wanted to spend the morning learning all he could about Josie’s hearing, so Frank and I had two hours on our own to visit her.

  We took the streetcar across town to Mrs. Carlisle’s neighborhood. Frank sat close to me and held my hand the whole way.

  “I’ve been thinking about what we should ask her,” Frank said, and he began to list off the questions. I was grateful that he would do the talking. I hadn’t been thinking clearly since he kissed me the day before, and now that his hand was in mine, I couldn’t seem to think at all. Was this why people risked so much when they were in love? I had always thought love made them heroic, but maybe it just addled their brains. With a shock, I realized that was just what Josie would say. I jerked my hand out of Frank’s. He stopped listing off the questions and looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I—, I—” Blood rushed to my face. “I just had an awful thought about Josie,” I said. Not exactly the truth, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry, Pearl, she hasn’t been in trouble before. They will let her off easy. She’ll be back in Como with you in no time.”

  I nodded and gave him a weak smile in return. “I hope you’re right. Maybe you better do the talking at Mrs. Carlisle’s house,” I said. “I can’t seem to keep my mind on anything this morning.”

  Frank took my hand again. “Sure.”

  Mrs. Carlisle lived in an older neighborhood with tiny frame houses, in the tiniest house on the block. The woman who opened the door introduced herself as Mrs. Carlisle’s daughter, Miss Marjorie Carlisle. She was a tall boney woman who looked as if she’d been gritting her teeth for too much of her life.

  Mrs. Carlisle came from the kitchen and greeted us. A softer-looking woman than her daughter, she put us at ease with a kind smile. We sat down together in the front parlor, and Frank got right to business.

  “We’re interested in the story of Silverheels and what happened in Buckskin Joe. Your daughter, Mrs. Nelson, was very kind to tell us what she knew.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Marjorie, rolling her eyes. I was surprised by her tone, and I could see Frank was too. “My sister never gets enough of telling about seeing Silverheels with her very own eyes. She told you that, right? Twice in the cemetery. No one else in town ever saw her, but Mae saw her twice. What a lucky girl she was.”

  Mrs. Carlisle let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. My girls were always competitive, I’m afraid.”

  “Mae got the best of everything,” Marjorie muttered.

  “Now that’s not true, dear. You got the high school education while Mae dropped out to marry. And you went to the Fourth of July barn dance with that boy you both liked. What was his name?”

  “Thomas. And as you may recall, I went to the barn dance with him, but Mae left the barn dance with him.”

  Mrs. Carlisle looked at us with a tired smile. “Whatever you say, dear. I’m sure these children aren’t here to hear about all that.”

  “No, ma’am,” Frank said. “We also learned about Mr. Lee, who grew up in Buckskin Joe, and I’ve talked to him about what he remembers.”

  “And now you want to talk to me, too,” said Mrs. Carlisle with a pleased smile. “What can I tell you? My mind’s like a steel trap, even at my age.”

  “We wanted to know what you remember about Silverheels.”

  “Oh, she was long gone by the time I can remember,” Mrs. Carlisle said dismissively. “But Silverheels wasn’t the only important person in Buckskin Joe. Horace Tabor had a store there with his first wife, Augusta, before he made his fortune in Leadville and left her for that hussy Baby Doe.” She shook her head. “Always the way with rich men, a good, hard-working woman like that abandoned for a pretty face.”

  Frank glanced at me, his eyes begging for my help.

  “Mrs. Carlisle, your daughter lent me this picture. I was wondering if you could tell me what you remember about it—or about any of these people.”

  I held the old tintype out to her. She put a pair of spectacles on and examined it, running her finger along from person to person as she did.

  “Lordy be! I haven’t seen this picture in years. That’s me there, and that’s Tom Lee.” She gave a little chuckle. “Look at him, love struck as always for Emma Clark. Who could have blamed him—she was a pretty little thing, wasn’t she.”

  By now we were all gazing at the girl with the bow and the ringlets, the same girl the ten-year-old Tom was admiring in the image.

  “I don’t recall you ever talking about an Emma Clark, Mother,” Marjorie said. “Did she stay on in Buckskin Joe?”

  “For a time. I suppose I never much talked about her because I was jealous, along with every other girl in town. Every boy who cast eyes on Emma had no eyes for any of the rest of us, and you know how that is. Nothing blinds a girl like jealousy. Just look at my two daughters, both thinking the other had it better than them.”

  “Mae did have it better than me,” Marjorie said. “She was always everyone’s favorite.”

  Mrs. Carlisle looked back down at the picture. “Poor Tom. He was smitten.”

  “What happened to Emma Clark?” Marjorie asked. “Did Tom marry her?”

  “She married a farmer who came up from Kentucky. They claimed homesteads in South Park, side by side so they could put them together as one. Once they proved up on those, they claimed a few more. Eventually had one of the finest spreads in Park County. When his pa died back in Kentucky, they pulled up stakes and headed back down south. As I recall, Tom bought their spread. I think he was still secretly in love with Emma, though she had a husband and child by then. He couldn’t have her, so he bought up her ranch to remember her by.”

  Frank’s brow was all scrunched up by now. She stopped and looked at him.

  “Something the matter, son?” she asked.

  “Not exactly. It’s just that Mr. Lee said that it was Silverheels who had that ranch and who left for Kentucky and sold it to him.”

  Mrs. Carlisle laughed. “Tom Lee’s gotten mighty confused in his old age. In those days there was a big Fourth of July pageant down in Fairplay every summer, and we kids from Buckskin Joe put on a little play about Silverheels. And every time, pretty little Emma, with her blond curls, got the part of Silverheels, while the rest of us girls had to be dying miners, all covered with ugly pox. Poor Tom was so in love with her he probably came to think of her as the real Silverheels.”

  I didn’t realize I was smiling until I looked at Frank and saw him smiling back. I turned to Mrs. Carlisle.

  “Well, if Mr. Lee didn’t know the real Silverheels, was there anyone in Buckskin Joe in your day who did?”

  “A couple of old miners,” she said. “One fellow whose face was all scarred with pockmarks would sit outside the saloon and tell his story to anyone who’d buy him whiskey. The poor old drunk.” She shook her head sadly and looked back down at the old tintype. T
hen her face lit up with surprise.

  “Oh, there was her!” she said, jabbing her finger at the woman holding the child.

  “The school mistress?” I asked.

  “I’d forgotten about her. She wasn’t really a school mistress. The year this picture was taken we didn’t have a teacher. She was the oldest girl in the school, so she taught the little ones their letters and did what she could for us older ones. Mostly, we read the books left behind by the previous teacher.”

  “And she knew Silverheels?”

  “She never talked about it, but apparently her pa died in the epidemic, when she was about twelve, and she was orphaned.”

  “What about her mother?” Frank asked.

  “Her ma was an Indian, but I don’t really know what happened to her. Some folks said she ran off with her tribe and never came back. Some folks said the child was so homely not even her own mother wanted her. You know how vicious rumors can be. Folks said Silverheels had been the child’s only true friend in town and she was heartbroke when the dancer disappeared. She went up into the mountains with a search party, looking for Silverheels, but they got caught in a blizzard, nearly froze to death. She lost all her toes on one foot to frostbite. Never did walk quite right, even when I knew her.”

  I was staring at Mrs. Carlisle, my pulse thundering in my ears.

  “What was her name?” Frank asked.

  “Good heavens, I haven’t thought of her in years. Let me see, what was her name?” Mrs. Carlisle pursed her lips and thought. “It was something Spanish or French as I recall.”

  “Sefa?” I asked.

  Mrs. Carlisle looked at me, her eyebrows popping up in surprise. “Why, yes, that’s it. Sefa Weldon. It was short for Josephine, but since there were several Joes in town, folks called her Sefa, to keep them straight. She left Buckskin Joe not long after this photograph was taken, I think. After we got a real teacher. I wonder what ever became of her.”

  I said nothing in reply, but I was pretty sure I knew—or would by the end of her hearing that afternoon.