Searching for Silverheels Read online

  CHAPTER 27

  How did you know her name, Pearl?” Frank demanded as soon as we left Mrs. Carlisle’s house and headed back toward the courthouse. He sounded annoyed, and I couldn’t blame him. After all, we had both promised to share whatever we learned with each other, and now he thought I had been holding back. But I hadn’t. I hadn’t known Sefa was real, hadn’t known Josie had ever been in South Park before she took over the Como newspaper office twenty years before.

  “I didn’t know,” I said.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Josie told me—but I thought she made it up.”

  “Josie told you?” Then the shock of recognition swept over his face and he froze on the sidewalk.

  “Good heavens! You don’t mean—Josephine? Josie?!”

  “And she says Silverheels was a cheat and a thief and a liar!” I said, walking faster. I didn’t want to talk about it or even think about it.

  Frank scrambled to catch up to me again. “So she’s bitter—no wonder, if she felt abandoned by Silverheels. It’s another lead we should follow. We have to talk to her and get the whole story from her.”

  “I don’t want the whole story. I just want to go home,” I said.

  “Pearl, I don’t understand. Why are you so angry? Please, talk to me!”

  I heard the hurt in his voice, and the anger and humiliation ran out of me. Frank did not deserve my anger. I apologized, and once we were back on the streetcar, headed downtown, I held his hand once again. As we rode, I told him everything about Sefa—her unrequited love for Buck, her helplessness when he died, and how she nursed the dying without thanks while Silverheels stole their hearts and their gold.

  Frank shook his head when I finished. “No wonder she’s such a bitter old woman. No wonder she hates Silverheels so much.”

  I nodded. “It’s like Russell says. You can’t know someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. I guess if it had been me, I’d hate everybody too.”

  “She doesn’t hate everybody,” Frank said.

  I surprised us both by snorting like a donkey. I guess that’s what bitterness does to a person.

  “She doesn’t,” Frank insisted. “She just—I don’t know. Wants to be right more than she wants to be liked, I think.”

  I was quiet then, thinking about that. It was what the whole exchange between us had been about. She had wanted to win. Maybe she hadn’t been laughing at me the whole time. Maybe she just wanted to be right. To be heard. To be vindicated.

  Frank smiled to himself. “At least we know now who’s been fixing up Buck Wilson’s grave.”

  I nodded. “I guess we do.”

  * * *

  The courthouse was a busy place when we arrived. Lawyers and judges were scurrying around with stacks of paper and books under their arms. Families, friends, and enemies were sitting in the hallways on benches or filing in and out of courtrooms.

  We found Russell on a bench outside a tiny courtroom on the second floor of the courthouse. He was dressed in a suit and tie and his hair was neatly slicked down, but unlike Josie who cleaned up real slick, Russell still looked like a hayseed, as Josie had called us. I’m sure I did too.

  “It’s a fairly simple hearing,” he explained when he saw us. “She’s waived her right to a lawyer—says she’d rather speak for herself.”

  “I wish she had taken a lawyer,” I said, and Russell and Frank nodded.

  “You know how Josie is,” Russell said. “I just hope she doesn’t get herself into worse trouble. There’s no jury. It’s just her and the judge and the policeman who arrested her. I doubt we’ll really have a chance to do or say anything to help her, but we can at least sit in there and let her know folks are pulling for her.”

  Frank and I nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  An hour later, Josie, escorted by a policeman, approached down the hallway. I looked hard at her, harder than I had ever looked before. I guess I was searching for some sign of the brokenhearted, rejected little girl, or the aching loss that would bring her back to clean Buck Wilson’s grave nearly sixty years later. She did look a little worse for wear after several days in jail, but otherwise she was the same Josie I’d always known. Tough, cranky, outspoken Josie, ready to take on anybody for her cause. Josie who was proud to have never taken a husband, who refused to be beholden to anyone.

  We followed her into the courtroom. The judge entered and took his place at the bench. He read the charges—obstructing traffic, creating a public nuisance, and resisting arrest. I was relieved to hear no mention of sedition. He asked Josie for her plea.

  She said clearly, “Not guilty.” My relief evaporated.

  The judge cleared his throat. “Miss Gilbert. Allow me to clarify your position. Four other women were cited for obstructing traffic and creating a public nuisance along with you. Those ladies pled guilty to the charges, paid their fines, and have gone home to their husbands where they belong. Their acceptance of the charge will be used as evidence against you should you deny guilt.

  “These are not serious charges, and if you are willing to pay the fine and return home to”—he consulted the paper in front of him—“to Como, we are willing to drop the resisting arrest charge, which is more serious.”

  “I will not!” Josie said, her back straightening. “We have a constitutional right to assembly and to free speech. There was no obstruction of anything but justice.”

  “And the charge of resisting arrest, madam? We have a police officer here with some mighty big bruises on his shins that I am willing to admit as evidence. Plenty of witnesses were on hand. I’d say the state has a clear case against you.”

  “I was resisting false imprisonment on false charges. Your police force does not have the authority to ride roughshod over my constitutional rights just because the exercise of my free speech is an embarrassment to them,” Josie said.

  I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. She was doing exactly what I had feared she would—arguing and insisting she was right against something that was too big for her. Fighting a battle she couldn’t win just because it was the right thing to do. But there was no point to it. She couldn’t win this war from inside a prison cell. She’d be locked up and forgotten. No one would even know she was there, sacrificing her freedom.

  The judge cleared his throat and shuffled his papers again. “Miss Gilbert, I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of your situation. Should this go to trial, the prosecution’s case against you will be watertight. When you are convicted of resisting arrest and of assaulting a police officer in the process, you will find the consequences severe—a steep fine and quite probably a lengthy stay in jail.”

  “Are you saying you’ve found me guilty already, without due process, Judge Gifford?” Josie said. “I don’t believe that’s legal either.”

  The judge’s eyes narrowed. “Due process will not be denied you, Miss Gilbert. I am simply trying to advise you of the folly of your current course of action. You have elected to dispense with legal representation, so I want you to clearly understand. As far as I can tell from the facts of this case, there is ample evidence against you and very little that supports your claim of innocence. The state, in bringing this case forward, has admissions of guilt from your associates, witnesses, the physical evidence of injury to the police officer and his possessions. They even have here a letter from a concerned citizen in Como, recounting a similar assault made by you on railroad personnel there, and the public danger of your ongoing seditious activities. It is, madam, a solid case against you. The court is willing, however, to let you off with a lesser fine and a warning, should you elect to plead guilty.”

  “You are awfully eager to get rid of me quietly,” Josie said. “Afraid a public trial will shine an embarrassing light on the public servants of Denver, are you?”

  “Dagnabbit, woman, just plead guilty and pay the fine,” Russell said in a low voice. The judge looked in our direction for the first time.

  �
�Do you have something to say on behalf of the defendant?” he asked.

  Russell stood slowly. “We are her friends, your honor, from Como.”

  The judge glanced back to Josie. “Well, it’s good to see you have some friends with good sense. This letter from Como in your file says otherwise. What is your relationship to the defendant, sir?”

  Russell shuffled his feet a little and glanced at Josie’s stiff back. He cleared his throat. “She’s my wife, your honor.”

  Frank and I both turned and stared at Russell, our mouths hanging open. I’d never heard Russell tell a lie before. The judge’s eyebrows popped up.

  “These documents say Miss Gilbert. Is there a mistake?”

  “My common-law wife, your honor. We’ve shared”—Russell glanced uncomfortably down at me before continuing—“shared marital relations, if you take my meaning, for fifteen years. I’ve asked her plenty of times to make it proper, but she won’t have any part of that.”

  “I see,” the judge said. I could see what he was thinking, that us country folks were about as backward and uncivilized as a pack of wolves.

  “You see, your honor, Miss Gilbert is about as stubborn as a mule with a stone in its shoe, and sometimes she can’t see what’s best for her when it’s hitting her in the face. But the other thing you’ve got to know about her is that she cares a good deal about doing the right thing. She cares about women getting the vote and being able to take care of themselves. She may be stubborn and wrongheaded in how she tries to get those things, but its always about the greater good. Folks like whoever wrote that letter, they only see things in terms of their own comforts in the here and now. Josie, there, she don’t care about her own comfort if she can ensure what’s best for future generations.”

  “Well, you make her out to be a very noble woman, but you claim to be her husband. I am going to have to see your testimony as biased.”

  “It’s true, sir,” I said, jumping to my feet. “Josie—Miss Gilbert has put the needs of others before her own for her whole life.”

  “And who are you, miss?” the judge asked.

  My cheeks warmed, but at the same time I felt my back stiffen, just like Josie’s. “I’m Miss Perline Rose Barnell,” I said. “I’m one of those future generations, and Miss Gilbert is my friend.”

  “And you can vouch for this lifetime of good deeds you claim she’s had?”

  “Yes, sir. Back in the early days of our county’s history, she nursed the sick through a terrible epidemic of smallpox. When others fled, she stayed to help the sick, even though she was just a girl.”

  “Hearsay,” the judge said. “Do you, yourself, Miss Barnell, have personal experience with this altruistic spirit of hers?”

  “Why yes, your honor. That’s what this is here today. She could stay safely at home and mind her own business. After all, women have the vote in Colorado. But she’s fighting for everyone, no matter the consequences to herself.”

  “Hmm,” the judge said. He didn’t seem convinced by that. I was racking my brain for another example, when Frank got to his feet beside me. The judge gave a little sigh, but nodded to him to speak.

  “My name is Franklin Sanford, your honor. I live here in Denver. I met Miss Gilbert and these other folks a few weeks back, when I visited Como with my sister and her new husband.” From there, Frank went on to tell the judge of the drunken scene in the street with Robert, and of my mother and Josie coming to our aid. He embellished it a bit, giving Josie a bigger role than she’d had, but none of us contradicted him.

  When he finished, the judge turned back to Josie. “I hope you see, madam, that you have some good friends and supporters here. Have you considered how they would feel if you got yourself convicted to six months in the women’s workhouse?”

  “Six months!” I gasped.

  The judge glanced at me, then back at Josie.

  “Six months is a long time in the workhouse for a woman your age,” he said. “This court will take a fifteen-minute recess for you to reconsider your plea, Miss Gilbert, now that your situation has been made clear to you. I urge you to talk to your friends and listen to their advice.”

  With that the judge turned and left the courtroom, and Josie spun to face the three of us.

  “I’ve never seen such a bunch of lying, groveling, cockamamie fools in all my life!” she shouted. “Your wife! Never, Russell McDonald! And you!” She jabbed a finger at me. “Get your head out of that silly story already! I am not your Silverheels!”

  “You’re welcome,” Russell said. “Now shut up and listen to sense for once in your life.” He gave her a little push to make her sit down in the chair behind her, but before he could say anything else, a policeman entered the room and called him away. We watched with a sinking heart as Russell followed the man out of the room. He might have had a chance of convincing Josie to change her plea, but I didn’t see how Frank and I could.

  “Please, Josie. Please plead guilty and pay the fine so you can come home with us,” I said.

  “You can do more for your cause out of jail than in it,” Frank added.

  “They are scared of having me in jail,” she said. “Look at all the press my sisters in Washington have gotten. They don’t want all that trouble here. I’ve got them right where I want them. If they acquit me, they’ve admitted cases like mine are frivolous, and I’ll take it straight to Washington. If they convict me, they will have all the mess and controversy on their hands that they’ve been trying to avoid.”

  “And I’ll have nothing,” I said. “If they convict you, you’ll be in the workhouse and you won’t come back to Como.”

  Josie snorted. “They’ll probably have a picnic in Como to celebrate being rid of me.”

  Tears welled up and spilled from my eyes, and I brushed them away furiously. “No they won’t! Como needs you. I need you! We’d all just die of boredom without you in town. If you only knew all the folks that put in money for your bail.”

  “Pull yourself together and stop blubbering, girl,” Josie said gruffly. “You’re talking nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense,” I insisted. “Can’t you see that Russell loves you, and I do too! We want you back in Como.”

  “Nobody loves me, girl, and that’s how I want it,” she said.

  She got up and walked away from me, and I could see it was no use. She wouldn’t bargain—not for her freedom, not for her life, and especially not for love. It was hopeless. I’d only realized how much I cared for her just in time to lose her. The tears came faster and I could not stop them. Frank put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned my head against him and sobbed.

  “Gosh, Miss Gilbert. Have a heart,” Frank said. He offered me his handkerchief and I wiped my eyes, but the tears kept flowing.

  Though it hadn’t been fifteen minutes, the door opened behind the bench and the judge came back in. Russell was not with him. He had a smug look on his face as he sat down at the bench. He banged his gavel once to let us know we ought to sit down and pay attention.

  “Miss Gilbert,” he said, “the case against you has been resolved in absentia.”

  “In absentia?” Josie repeated.

  The judge gave her a condescending smile. “That means in your absence.”

  “I know what it means, but I’m not absent. I’m right here, you old fool. You can’t do that!”

  The judge banged the gavel again. “Order in the court. The court may rule in absentia when the defendant has proved belligerent in the courtroom, or at a conference regarding sentence reduction. Your charges have been reduced to obstructing traffic and creating a public nuisance, and your husband has paid the fines. All other charges are being dropped on the condition that you accompany your husband back to Como immediately upon leaving this court and do not return to Denver for six months. Your husband—”

  “He’s not my husband!”

  “The nature of your relationship is sufficient for this court to accept his authority over you under common law. I am rele
asing you into his custody. He has agreed to accompany you home to ensure that you abide by the agreement. If you return to Denver you will be sentenced to six months in the county workhouse, and your husband will face charges for aiding and abetting you in your criminal activity.”

  “You can’t do that,” Josie said. “He can’t do that. I’m an adult and he has no authority over me!”

  “The court has ruled. The case of City and County of Denver versus Josephine Gilbert is now closed.” The judge banged his gavel one more time and strode form the room without a glance back at the defendant, who stood blustering uselessly before his bench.

  CHAPTER 28

  A police officer escorted us out of the courthouse. Russell was waiting on the steps with our traveling bags as well as a beat-up carpetbag that apparently belonged to Josie. She glared so murderously at him when she saw him that he took a step back from her. I was glad a policeman was on hand, just in case.

  Russell had a car waiting at the curb. The police officer was to escort us to the train station and onto the first passenger train headed west, so I only had a brief moment to say good-bye to Frank. He kissed me lightly on the cheek and told me to keep his soggy handkerchief. I kissed him back and promised to write, hoping he didn’t think me such a silly, weepy sap that he was glad to be rid of me.

  Then we were in the automobile headed to the train station. It was the first automobile I had ever ridden in, and I would have loved it, but traveling with Josie and Russell was like traveling with a thundercloud that might burst at any moment. No one said anything. No one wanted to be the one to burst it open.

  At Union Station the policeman and Russell stayed close at either side of Josie as we navigated through the crowds to the ticket window and bought our tickets. We had to wait nearly two hours for the train. The whole time anger scorched the air around us. At last an attendant came through ringing his handbell and announcing our train was boarding. We found our compartment and closed ourselves into it, still silent as the train lurched and pulled away from the station. I started to think that if someone didn’t say something soon the whole compartment might just explode into flame, like old dynamite left at an abandoned mine too long. Russell must have felt the same way and wanted to keep me safe, because he dug into his pocket for a dime and suggested I go to the dining car and get us each a bottle of Coca-Cola.