Searching for Silverheels (7 page)

“Why?” asked Harry. “Have the graves been tended lately?”

“Maybe it was the Veiled Lady, come back tending the grave of her lost lover,” said Orv, mischief in his eyes.

“Well if it was, she'd be in the back part of the plot. That's where the smallpox graves are,” Russell said.

“There was one fella back there she was supposed to have been sweet on, right?” Harry said.

“Buck Wilson,” said Orv. “I remembered after you asked this morning. Some folks say they were engaged to be married, but he was one of the first to die from the pox.”

Frank looked at me, his eyebrows raised. “Did you know that?” he asked.

I shook my head. I had heard versions of the story in which she had been in love or engaged to various miners, but if I had ever heard the names of the men, I'd forgotten. Tourists only needed enough to get interested in a tour.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked Orv.

He shrugged. “Don't rightly recall, but that's what I've heard. Why so interested? Did you see the Veiled Lady?”

“No,” Frank said, “but someone has cleaned Buck Wilson's grave recently. We saw it when we were there today.”

The old-timers all stopped talking or eating and stared at Frank.

“Buck Wilson? Really?” Russell said.

“Do you know who around here might have known him?” I asked.

“I don't rightly know,” Russell said. His brow wrinkled and he looked like he was thinking hard, but he didn't say anything more.

“Well, I'll be,” said Harry into the silence that followed. “Maybe the Veiled Lady's been to the cemetery, tending her beloved.”

“You ought to talk to Mae Nelson. She can tell you if it was the Veiled Lady or not. She's seen her,” Orv said.

“Who knows,” Harry continued. “You two may be the ones to find Silverheels at last, after all these years.”

The goose bumps I had felt rising on my arms spread with a little shiver all over my body. It looked like we had a new mission for tomorrow.

I
was in a good mood the next morning, looking forward to another outing with Frank. I was just sure Mae Nelson would be able to tell us something useful. I was refilling coffee and daydreaming about my triumphant return from Fairplay with all the proof I needed to win my bet, when Josie walked into the café. I tried to ignore her, but she stumped to the counter and banged a coffee cup against its saucer so hard I was afraid it might crack. Her idea of a polite request for coffee. I hurried to her and filled the cup before she could do it again.

“Well, girl, are you ready to help me pass out leaflets today?” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You haven't proven anything,” I said. “In fact, I happen to know your story was all false.”

“And how do you happen to know that?” she said. She was smirking in a most unpleasant way, waiting for my answer. Waiting for me to admit that I had fallen into her trap and made a fool of myself by asking about Lou Bunch. I glanced around the café to see who was listening. At least the Crawfords weren't there, but I could tell the old-timers
were pricking up their ears. I leaned in close to Josie and answered in a whisper.

“Because I found out who Lou Bunch is, and she couldn't have known Silverheels. Which you knew.”

Josie waved a hand in the air, as if my point was a pesky fly that could be waved away. “Lou Bunch doesn't matter. My version of things could still be true.”

“How could it be, when we both know you put someone into the story who couldn't possibly have been there? You can't just put anyone into the story willy-nilly.”

“Can't I? I don't remember that rule being made when you took the wager.”

“I've got work to do,” I said. “Do you want hotcakes this morning?” I hoped no one took note of what she said. If word got back to my mother that I had taken a bet, I would be in big trouble.

“Of course. And hurry up with it,” she said. Then she took a long noisy slurp of her coffee and opened a newspaper as if I wasn't there. That was fine with me. I didn't speak to her again until she finished her breakfast and demanded another cup of coffee. By then most folks had cleared out of the café, but I kept my voice down all the same.

“We didn't make any rules, but you won't prove anything by making up stories and characters that we both know aren't true.”

“You made up a cruel father for her,” Josie pointed out.

“That was different,” I insisted. “That was just a possibility.
I was trying to show you that there could be a logical reason why a girl would keep her name a secret, even with those who loved her.”

“And I was showing you that the kind of women who strike it rich in gold camps have their own methods. Being a sweet, addle-headed romantic didn't get them anywhere. And it won't you, either.”

Being called addle-headed stung, but I refused to rise to the bait. Instead, I tipped my nose up with an air of superiority, and I spoke as haughtily as I could.

“Anyway, I don't have to make up names or people any more. I know Silverheels was in love with Buck Wilson, and I know I can prove it. Real proof.”

At this, Josie's face changed. Her smirk disappeared and her eyes narrowed into a glare. “Buck Wilson?” she growled. “You are going to bring Buck Wilson into this?”

It was written all over her face—I had hit a cord. I was onto something important with Buck Wilson's story, and she knew it.

“What do you know about Buck Wilson?” I asked.

“None of your business, girl. If you want to find out about Buck Wilson, don't come bothering me about it. I'm not giving you any help in this.”

Now it was my turn to smirk. “I know exactly how I'm going to learn all about Buck Wilson. And from someone who really knows.”

“And who exactly would that be?” she demanded.

I only smiled at her and went to clear plates from a table, pleased to have gotten under her skin for a change.

A few minutes later, Frank arrived and took a seat at the counter, a few stools down from Josie.

“I was talking to Mr. Sorensen at the hotel and he says there's a train coming through around one thirty this afternoon that takes on water here before going on to Fairplay. He says that's the best way to get there, if you can afford a ticket.”

“I can work out a trade with the stationmaster, Mr. Orenbach,” I said.

“Do you think Mrs. Nelson will see us if we just drop in unexpected?”

“I hope so. Mother says she's a widow, so I'm hoping she'll be glad of some company. Mother is making a raisin cake for me to take to her.”

Josie gave a sudden loud bray of laughter. “Mae Nelson? That's where you plan to learn all about Buck Wilson?”

I lifted my chin defiantly. “Russell says she grew up in Buckskin Joe and remembers a lot of what happened up there,” I said.

“And they say she saw Silverheels in the cemetery,” Frank added. I wished he hadn't. That fact wasn't going to make her seem one bit more credible in Josie's eyes.

“Mae Nelson makes her living selling postcards and candy on the platform while the train takes on water,” Josie said. “She'd say anything to sell another nickel's worth of her wares.”

Frank smiled at Josie politely, something only my mother and strangers did. “What about you, Mrs. um—”

“Gilbert,” I said.

“Mrs. Gilbert. Have you lived here all your life?”

“I've lived in Como for nigh on twenty years. The lovely Silverheels was long gone by the time I came here.”

“But that's long enough to have heard people say they've seen her in the cemetery up there,” Frank said.

“You only have to be in Park County a few hours to hear that,” Josie said. “Especially if you happen to run into Miss Perline Rose Barnell at the Silverheels Café. The sooner you meet her, the sooner you'll hear the story.”

Frank glanced at me, but was gentlemanly enough to pretend he couldn't see my irritation.

“But have you met folks who say they have actually seen her up there?”

“There are plenty of crazy folks in the world. I don't have time to listen to what they are saying.” She slid off the stool, dropped a nickel on the counter, and left, throwing open the screen door so hard it banged against the wall.

Mr. Orenbach was happy to let Frank, Willie, and me ride the train to and from Fairplay in exchange for my sweeping and dusting the station every evening for a month. It seemed to me that Willie should do his own work for his ticket, but he refused. He was only going because Mother insisted Frank and I couldn't go alone, so I had no choice. If I didn't work for Willie's ticket, he'd refuse to go, and then Frank and I couldn't go either.

After the lunch rush, I changed into my Sunday best and we set off on the train to Fairplay. As soon as we arrived, Willie gave us a wave and headed for the drugstore—and the only soda fountain in Park County. Hardly the chaperone Mother had sent him to be, but I was glad to be rid of him.

The stationmaster in Fairplay knew where Mrs. Nelson lived and Frank and I were soon standing in front of her little clapboard house. It was tiny, but neat as a pin, painted bright yellow and surrounded by a picket fence. Geraniums bloomed in pots on either side of the front steps, cheerfully welcoming us.

Still, Frank and I approached the door a little nervously. I clutched the small raisin cake with both hands as Frank knocked.

The woman who answered the door was not the old woman I had expected. She was no older than my own mother.

“Mrs. Nelson?” I asked.

“Yes?” She was drying her hands on her apron as if she'd just come from the kitchen. I hoped she would have time to talk to us.

“I'm Perline Barnell, from Como,” I said.

“Maggie Barnell's girl?”

“Yes, ma'am. And this is my friend Frank.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Nelson,” Frank said with a stiff little bow, very formal and gentlemanly.

I held out the cake and continued politely. “Frank is visiting from Denver and he's curious about Buckskin Joe. We were
wondering if we might ask you a few questions about when you lived up there.”

Frank smiled. His smile went a little higher on his right cheek than his left, making his dimples lopsided. It wasn't dazzling like George's smile. It was the kind of smile that put a person at ease. Mrs. Nelson smiled back.

“Well, of course I would. I'd be happy to. Too few youngsters care to hear about the old days now.”

She took the cake and held the door wide for us. We stepped inside the tiny house and she waved us to the right, into a sunny alcove just big enough for a stiff-backed bench and two horsehair chairs.

Frank took charge of the conversation as soon as we sat down.

“How long did you live in Buckskin Joe, Mrs. Nelson?”

“Well, I was born there,” she said. “By then there weren't many folks left, so we kids went down to Como to school.” She paused and smiled at me. “I went to school with your ma. We moved down to Fairplay when I started high school. That was the fall of '92, just before the big silver crash. And of course, that was pretty much the end of Buckskin Joe.”

“So you grew up there? And you heard all the stories of Silverheels?” Frank asked.

“Everyone in Park County knows the story of Silverheels,” she said. “But I think I saw Silverheels two times in the cemetery there.”

“Really?”

“Are you sure?” Frank and I spoke at the same time, but it was okay. I could tell by the twinkle in her eye that it was just the reaction Mrs. Nelson had wanted.

“That's right,” she said. “The first time I was about your age, I suppose. There were rumors, you know. Everyone said the ghost of Silverheels haunted the cemetery there. So, my sister, Marjorie, my brother, Charles, and I decided we would stay overnight in the cemetery to see her. It was a dare, really. The older kids thought we'd be too scared.

“And of course we were. Marjorie, she was the youngest and mother's little pet, she ran home as soon as it got dark, but not Charles and me. We stayed, but we didn't sleep. It was round about midnight, I think, when we saw her.”

“What did she look like?” Frank asked.

“She was straight and tall, very lean. She was dressed all in black, just like they say in the stories, with a heavy veil over her face.”

“What was she doing?” I asked.

“She was walking among the graves when we saw her, but Charles shouted and she fled, and Charles and me were so scared we froze up, so she got away.” She laughed at the memory, but a shiver went up my spine.

“You think she was a ghost then?” Frank asked.

“I did at the time,” she admitted, “but I don't think so now. Because I saw her again, some years later, shortly after I married. My father and uncle are buried there in the cemetery,
so I took my mother up every year in the spring to tend the graves.”

“Do you still do that?” Frank asked. I'm sure he was thinking of what we had seen the day before—I know I was.

Mrs. Nelson shook her head. “Momma moved to Denver about four years ago and I haven't been up there since.”

“So when exactly did you see her the second time?” Frank asked.

“Oh, it would be maybe fifteen years ago, maybe a little more. Momma and I had made a day of it, tending the graves and then having a picnic a few miles farther down Buckskin Creek, in the big meadow there. It was getting on toward evening when Momma realized she had left her new gloves back in the cemetery. I went back by myself to fetch them. I was looking for the gloves, so I was walking along, my eyes on the ground, when I heard a sound. I looked up and there she was, no more than twenty feet from me.”

“So you got a good look at her that time?” Frank asked.

“Certainly. It was toward dusk, but not dark yet. She was dressed all in black, as before, and wore a broad hat with a black veil. I couldn't see much of her face, but our eyes met for a moment. There was something about those eyes . . .” She paused and shook her head. “Then once again, she fled. I called out to her to wait, but she kept right on going.”