The boys thought the lovely Dakota such an improvement over dowdy Mrs. Lacey and cranky Mr. Sim, that they outdid each other in scholarship to please her; the girls waited daily to see how she'd done up her hair in some new "do," and they strove to be model citizens, just to perversely prove their parents wrong.
Being a schoolmarm wasn't all Dakota had in mind for herself, but she was young and frisky, and recently enough out of school that the freedom of adulthood was heady. She put her considerable imagination to work to make lessons fun.
"We're not going to read plays, children," she told them. "We are going to perform them. And every single day that you've been good and done all your lessons correctly, I'm going to spend the last half hour reading aloud to you from my favorite novels." She found that the Brontes had the capacity to keep even the most obstreperous in line.
"I had no idea, Rufus, how very interesting little children can be," Dakota told him after the trail of youngsters who tended to follow her home each day had left. "Just today, little Billy Harker told me he's been studying snowflakes for some time now, and he's never found any two alike. He said, if by chance every single one is different, he thinks God is spending entirely too much time thinking up new snowflake designs, and maybe that's why the world's in such a sorry state."
Rufus grinned and tied a clean apron around his middle. "Bet you were a interestin' li'l thing when you were small, Dakota."
"I was mostly shy, Rufus, although they say I talked a blue streak from the time I opened my mouth."
"Seems like you makin' up fo' yo' daddy, child. He says only what's necessary, you say what's pretty to hear. All evens up, I expect."
"Do you think I'll get to see the world, Rufus?".
"Wouldn't surprise me none."
"Did you ever want to see it all, like I do?"
Rufus chuckled. "Seen more'n enough to suit me. You kin go see my part, too."
Dakota laughed softly. Rufus thought she had the prettiest face he'd ever laid eyes on and hoped the world would be good to her. She wore a long buckskin skirt and a knitted top that left no doubt about the litheness of her young body. She was troublingly beautiful, exotic, and, in her own way, bountiful as her mother. Men couldn't help but notice, couldn't help but want. Rufus thought there might be problems if she stayed on, and worse if she lit out on her own.
"You know I'm going to hate to leave my mama and daddy, when I go, Rufus. I admire them so."
"You do?"
"They've overcome real hardships, I think. I'd never presume to ask about them, but I expect they've seen the world, Rufus, and it didn't treat them gently. But they're good people anyway and that's admirable as all get out, don't you think? I can't help but wonder who I'll be when I've seen it all."
Rufus went about his business thinking how nice it was to be young enough to think that what the world had to offer was mostly desirable.
Chapter 90
Mahogany forests in Honduras, a theatre in Kansas City, mining interests in Central America, a riverbank mill in Mexico, something or other in the Yucatan, wherever the hell that was...
Fancy ticked off some of Chance's investments that she'd wheedled out of everyone she could—some from Jason, who seemed a more welcome visitor these days when he came to Colorado, some from Jewel, whose girls had heard pillow talk from other mine owners.
Caz couldn't tell her much, and she believed the man when he said that where the mine money went was as much a secret to him as it was to her. His instructions were to get the silver out of the ground and send the money to Chance or Jason or John Henderson at the Fiduciary Bank; after that, who could say what happened to it? Caz did volunteer that not nearly enough of it was spent on safety measures in the mine these days, or on improvements of any kind, and that disturbed Fancy most of all. Chance never paid attention to details, but he surely did care about the men....
One of the new claims looked like it might be a winner, the Aussie said, but it was still too soon to say, and a great many of the recent purchases had been real clinkers. Dear Caz, Fancy thought, he'd always been such a loyal friend to us all, with never a jealous bone over the fact that we made it big and he didn't. She decided to do something nice to repay the man—maybe she could get Chance or Jason to raise his salary—of course, if she did that, it would tip them off that she was keeping tabs. She made a mental note to send a gift instead to him and his wife, Annie. It distressed her that she and Chance no longer socialized with old friends who were not on their social level. Magda, Wes, Gitalis, Wu, Jewel, Caz... she saw them all on her own; Chance wasn't a snob exactly, but outside of political necessity, he did only what he wanted, not what he considered a personal obligation. She forced her mind back to the problem at hand.
Surely Jason, at least, knew what he was doing, and he appeared to have provided only friendship and good counsel to Chance since the mining accident. Not that she really fully trusted him, but at least he was the one man in town who treated her as an equal. When Jason was in Leadville or Denver, he always went out of his way to be both courtly and informative; not seductive, merely gentlemanly, like an old friend from the past, which, of course, was an accurate enough description of his status, she supposed.
Fancy prepared for bed, anxious to talk to Chance about what she'd learned of his enterprises. They had so little time alone together these days, and bed was the one place where everything always went well between them; maybe she could get some satisfactory answers there.
Chance tossed his trousers haphazardly onto the chaise. He's so careless of everything, she thought with the petty annoyance that enters into marriage when other, more important, things are wrong.
He hadn't backed her up when she'd punished Aurora for the theft of the earrings, and that still rankled; she'd tried to make him see the seriousness of the girl's theft, but he'd had other things on his mind, and hadn't been as shaken by the episode as she.
Naked, Chance slid into bed beside Fancy and automatically turned to take her in his arms. How like him, she thought... never a question of whether I want to make love, only the certainty that I'll respond. She tried to slither out of reach without really rebuffing him; she'd heard at the Geographic Society lecture that when a female whale wished to avoid a male's attentions, she simply upended herself and stuck her tail above the water until he tired of the game and left. She wished she had as eloquent a signal. Not that she didn't like to make love with Chance... even after all the years, she had to admit that just the sight of him entering a room could flood her with desire. But there were serious topics to discuss tonight and too often lust was Chance's means of avoiding all discussion... and decision... and responsibility...
Had he always been that way? Or had she only noticed it with her own growing sophistication? Or had it been that in the old days, Hart and Bandana had provided the checks and balances for Chance's improvident nature, so it was less noticeable, less irritating, and less dangerous. She wondered fleetingly where Hart was and said a prayer for his safety.
"You're relying a lot on Jason's judgment in these new investments you're making, aren't you, love?" she asked, gently moving her body away from her husband's questing hands. "I wish you'd tell me what they're all about, so I won't feel such a dunce when somebody talks to me about your newest triumphs." Maybe flattery would do the trick.
She knew that since they'd been in Denver he'd left nearly all Leadville decision making in the hands of Jason or John. Others of Leadville's rich had financial advisors, of course, but still it troubled her that Chance was so oblivious to his own role in personally controlling their holdings. On the other hand, Jason had all the business qualities Chance lacked, so maybe she was better off with this arrangement. If only she could ever feel Jason to be trustworthy, but in her gut she knew he was a predator. A shark always needs to feed... it was probably just her imagination that either she or Chance might be the prey.
Good-naturedly, Chance propped himself up on one elbow, a sensual smile playing at his lips.
"Do you really think this is the time to talk business, sugar?" he said, amused. "There's this story I've been wanting to tell you..."
"When is the time, Chance?"
"Anytime but now," he answered confidently, reaching out for her, touching just where she loved to be touched, so that Fancy felt her body respond almost against her own will. She felt the hardening of nipple, the dampening of yearning. Chance saw it, too, for he smiled and moved his hands downward, barely touching the rise and fall of ribs and taut belly, just enough to raise goose bumps of desire. Just enough... she thought, deeply disturbed by the intensity of her own responsiveness. Always just enough.
Horace Austin Warner Tabor was expansive as all get out, Chance thought, for a man who'd placed himself smack in the eye of the hurricane with his divorce. After more than a quarter century of less than blissful marriage, Haw had left the dreary Augusta for the ebullient Baby Doe McCourt.
Fancy had greeted the news of Augusta's loss with unmitigated delight—maybe now the old battle-ax would have enough on her mind, taking care of her own business instead of other people's, she'd told Jewel with malicious pleasure. Augusta had been a leader in the movement to keep Fancy out of Leadville's polite society—as if that weren't a contradiction in terms!
The last of the countless courses was being cleared away and Fancy knew, with consummate annoyance, that any moment the women would be shooed off, so the men could talk business over their cigars and port, while she was relegated to the endless boring gossip of housewives. Fancy turned to Jason, seated next to her, determined to learn what she could before losing him to the men's conversation; he'd come to town the day before to attend this party.
"I hear the Little Pittsburgh stock is down to a dollar ninety-five a share," she said, and saw him smile indulgently at her.
"It must be trying for a woman of your intelligence to be consigned to discussing croup and diapers," he whispered back conspiratorially.
"I'd give my new lace bloomers to be a fly on the wall tonight when you men get together, so I could find out what's really going on around here."
"An interesting proposition, my dear, and one I'd be most pleased to take you up on, if you weren't so very married and full of propriety these days. But I do sympathize with your sensible curiosity."
"Enough to satisfy it?"
She really is one of a kind, he thought; if Chance would only use her acumen to help him make decisions, he'd be a formidable adversary.
"Word is," Jason said, his voice confidential, "that Chaffee and
Moffat may have sold their own mine shares short, when they found out the Little Pittsburgh's days were numbered."
"How many shares did they short?" she asked, avid as a child.
"Fifty-one thousand, according to rumor." He was amused both by her interest and by the fact that she understood without explanation exactly what the manipulation had been. "The stock is selling at less than two dollars a share."
"God Almighty, Jason! Last January I could have bought it at thirty." Several heads, including Chance's, turned her way.
Fancy, reproved, lowered her eyes and rose with the other ladies to be sent into exile, but as she passed Jason's chair she whispered to him, "That was damned well worth my bloomers." He chuckled appreciatively, and Fancy, happy as always when she'd caused a scene, flounced off to the parlor to converse with the other ladies about the use of laudanum for bowel flux and other equally riveting topics.
The Walsh library to which the men adjourned was the most lavish in Denver, which was only to be expected from the wealthiest of all Denver's elite.
Chance warmed the crystal snifter between his hands and pressed his long, lean body comfortably back into the leather wing chair near the fire. Huge logs cracked and hissed in the room's mahogany darkness; he watched a shower of snapping sparks sucked upwards by the draft. It looked to be another long-winded evening.
"Bi-metallism," Tabor was saying, "is the only sure way for the country to go. It makes no sense whatsoever to back this country's currency with gold alone. Not when the quantities mined of each metal are damned near identical." Murmurs of assent greeted this popular sally.
Jim Grant, former governor and one of the only two Democrats in the room, spoke up. "It isn't just the silver industry that's endangered here, gentlemen. Every single economic pursuit in this state is tied to mining. There's not a living soul in Colorado who doesn't depend for his bread on silver."
"Now, Jim," Tabor nudged. "No need to make a campaign speech here—you're not running for anything at the moment."
"The state'd be a damned sight better off if I were," he riposted, and everyone chuckled.
"Electioneering or no electioneering. If they wipe silver off the map, they'll just double the value of gold and gold securities and the debt securities which have to be paid in gold."
Chance thought it was time to enter the discussion; silence was always considered weakness in politics. "That's what the Silver Alliance is all about, isn't it? We've got branches set up all over the state promoting silver to everyone from senators to grannies in their rocking chairs." He rested his glass on the small satinwood table beside his chair and warmed to the discussion.
McAllister had the look of a statesman, it was said behind his back, and he was able to make voters believe in whatever he was selling. "You gentlemen seem to be forgetting one important factor," he said now all eyes were turned in his direction.
"And what exactly is that, sir?" asked Elmore Trask.
"That sensible as bi-metallism seems to us here in the midst of the silver kingdom, there are damned powerful forces back East who have just as vested an interest in gold.
"We in Colorado are the leading silver producers in America, so we can't conceive of our government walking away from silver, but it's the gold men on Wall Street who have the ears of the Washington elite. I've been to the Capitol often enough this year to know what I'm talking about."
"You're absolutely right," Jason Madigan said. "Even if we succeed in getting someone into the White House who's pro-silver, we'd damned well better not get complacent. We could lose our shirts with the stroke of a pen on the wrong bill."
Chance felt a momentary unease at the thought of silver becoming a glut on the market, but he forced the notion aside. Nonetheless, he was glad Jason had encouraged him to diversify into all those other investments, which at first had made him wary. It never paid to have all your eggs in one basket, and life at the top was proving to be very, very expensive.
Chance listened with one ear as Haw began the speech everyone expected to hear, at least once per dinner party.
Dear Bro,
I've decided to keep on writing to you, even though I don't know where you've gone. It keeps you alive, I guess—I suppose it never occurred to you that I might worry about you if you took off into hostile Indian country and disappeared from the face of the earth?
It's also a means of keeping my mind clear, I think. Talking to you always kept me on the straight and narrow, bro, but I suppose you know that. There I'd be, with all my plans and dreams, running on at the mouth about how I was going to rule the world, and then you'd say some simple commonsense thing that would put me straight again... can't say I always appreciated the abrupt plunge into cold water, but I can see now how much I miss your honesty and goodness, Hart. I always knew, when you were around, I could run out my kite string just so far and then you'd reel me back in before I hit my head on a low flying comet.
Life's more fine than not since Fancy and I worked out our problems, bro. Aurora's a handful, though. I hate to say it about my own kin, but she's got a mean streak and an arrogance I've never seen in a McAllister. I doubt she'd give me houseroom if she had her druthers. Blackjack is so much like me as a boy he'd make you chuckle. He handles a deck like a Mississippi riverboat gambler, despite the fact that his hands are barely big enough to hold the cards—but there's more to him than that. I'll never forget the way he stood guard over his si
ster's coffin like a sentinel, never left her side, only a baby himself. He's the only one talks about her like she's still alive. "I guess she's up there with the eagles, now, Dad," he'll say. "She must love having wings, it was real hard for her to walk."
I'd like you to know my son, bro, I hope someday you'll have one of your own. We don't seem to have the luck with girls we do with boys, but maybe you'll change all that.
Well, I guess that's it for now. I'll just tuck this letter in the drawer with the rest and one day, when you come home, we'll get drunk together and read them all out loud and have a fine old time reminiscing.
Stay safe, bro. You mean a lot to
Your harried brother,
Chance
Chapter 91
Dakota Jameson tugged at her traveling suit and wondered if she'd changed much in the year she'd been in Leadville. She felt different, more substantial, self-sufficient and all grown up. Teaching had expanded her. Living in Leadville with Jewel had added reams to her journal and the time she'd spent in Denver with Fancy had made her feel sophisticated and worldly. She wished Fancy still lived in Leadville; having her friend near at hand would have comforted Jewel, now that she was leaving. The school year had ended and it was time to go in search of material for her stories, but it was infinitely harder to part with Jewel and Ford than she'd ever dreamed it would be. If seeing the world hadn't meant so much to her for so long a time, Dakota would have gladly reconsidered. She'd found that she was a talented teacher and she'd been happier this past year in Leadville than she had ever been in her life.
Dakota placed the little toque upon her head with what conviction she could muster, and decided she was ready as she'd ever be. She tried not to think about how much she would miss the friends she'd made and the schoolchildren.... She'd miss Rufus and Fancy and Wu, dreadfully. Most of all she'd miss her mother and father. How on earth she'd find the courage to say good-bye to them, even for a little while, was more than she could imagine. Surely no one ever had a more interesting set of parents than she.