15

Margaret Parker’s Journal

Friday, August 10, 1877
Cache la Poudre River Ranch
Fort Collins, Colorado

Callum and I took the train to Greeley and rode from there. The rail line between Fort Collins and Denver should be finished by September. Connolly’s company has an interest in it, of course. Unfortunately, I’ll be retired or dead and not able to rob it. Maybe Hattie and the girls will. I suspect they will continue with their outlaw ways when I’m gone.

Connolly had a man at the Greeley station with two horses for us to ride. I was surprised and pleased when I saw the mount he had brought for me: a strapping gray stallion with plenty of life. Connolly had sent me a note the day before we left and told me we would ride part of the way, so I’d dressed appropriately, and smartly. I’ve always filled out a riding habit well, and Callum Connolly looked on me with appreciation and a little astonishment.

—Have you never seen a woman wear britches before, Mr. Connolly?

—Not one so beautiful as you.

—It is awfully early in the morning to be so charming, Mr. Connolly.

—­Please, call me Callum.

—­Callum. It is quite shocking, isn’t it? I suppose when you know almost the day of your death, what other people think about what you are wearing matters little. I’ve always thought riding was easier in pants, and since I don’t ride sidesaddle, it’s pointless to pretend to be coy.

We rode through Greeley, and I was shocked to discover it had changed so much in the time I’d been ­gone—­more buildings, though no saloons. I’d never liked Greeley much; it is full of pious teetotalers. You couldn’t fault them for hard work and good business sense, though. But the railroad worked its magic wherever it went, which is why so many small connecting lines were being built to towns off the main line. I wondered how long until the entire country would be accessible by train, and realized I wouldn’t be around to see it.

These past weeks, I’ve felt my life picking up speed to its destination. I don’t feel appreciably worse, though the doctor told me that in the end the pain will be unbearable. The certain knowledge of the misery that awaits me doesn’t worry me, it frees me to take chances I might not otherwise take. I’ve had to rein myself in more than once; I still want to win this bet, I need to win this bet, to set up Hattie, Jehu, and the girls, to give them a comfortable nest egg and a ranch free and clear, so they can live out their days. It is the thought of and Hattie, elderly and ­sitting on our porch watching the sun rise over Cold Spring Mountain, that keeps me from recklessness.

But today, nothing could keep me from giving my horse its head and enjoying the wind whipping my hair out of its twist, of leaning low over the horse’s neck to encourage it to go faster, faster, faster. I thought of my mother and grandfather, long dead, and how proud my grandfather would be of me despite the fact that I was an outlaw.

I outpaced Callum and his horse by at least three lengths. I stopped when I reached the Cache la Poudre River. My horse danced beneath me, excited after the long run. My heart beat rapidly in my chest, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I’ve always felt most at home astride, and always loved more than anything the smell of horse sweat and leather, the feel of the powerful animal beneath me combining its energy with my own, feeling more alive than I’ve ever felt at any other time in my life. The closest I’ve ever come to that transcendental feeling was after I’d robbed my first bank. Callum Connolly must’ve seen something of my thoughts on my face when he caught up to me because he smiled and said,—Dorcas said you were a good horsewoman, but I didn’t believe her.

—Dorcas complimented me? I can’t believe it.

—If it makes you feel better, she said it as an insult.

—Much better. Thank you, Callum, for putting me in my place.

—I don’t know what I’m going to do now Dorcas isn’t accompanying me to my other businesses.

I asked Callum why Dorcas wasn’t coming with him as planned.

—She was attacked last night. Robbed.

—Was she injured?

—She has a splitting headache and a lump at the base of her skull. The doctor diagnosed her with a concussion and told her not to get out of bed, let alone travel.

—It seems working for you is a dangerous occupation.

—It does seem that way.

—Do you not have another clerk?

—No. I had a potential secretary die an untimely death in Gunnison a few months ago.

—Oh dear. What happened?

—He was a weak man in a rough town. Come, let’s cross upriver a bit.

It was a companionable ride. We made small talk about the weather and the beauty of the area, but mostly we were silent. The river was languid, meandering along the valley floor, and we could have easily crossed at any point. I was getting nervous, wondering if this hadn’t all been a ruse to get me away from town. I was alone with a man I didn’t know, but who was rumored to be violent with whores behind closed doors, without my gun. He could do whatever he wanted with me and I had no recourse save Hattie’s Bowie knife secreted at the small of my back beneath my vest. It wouldn’t be easy to get to if he did attack me. I should have put it in my boot.

Callum rode with his masked profile toward me and his black Stetson pulled low over his eyes. A cloud drifted across the sun, throwing us in shadow. A chill went down my spine. I was opening my mouth to say I was crossing the river when Callum said,—We’re here.

Ahead of us, around a slight bend in the river, was a copse of trees. Beneath the largest tree, a cottonwood of course, were a table and two chairs. The white tablecloth fluttered in the gentle breeze. A wagon with two mules in the traces was parked a little ways off. A Chinaman stood off to the side of the table, hands folded in front of him, waiting.

—I thought we’d have a picnic, Callum said.

—How lovely. Thank you.

We dismounted, and Callum took the horses upriver to drink. The Chinaman bowed as I approached the table. I smiled, greeted him, and asked his name.

—Bohai, madam.

—Pleasure to meet you.

He bowed again and went to the river. Bohai pulled on a rope that led into the river, and a bottle of white wine bobbed on the surface. The table was laid with china, silver, and crystal, with a bowl of floating flowers as the centerpiece. There were a silver platter with a large ham, a plate of rolls that looked soft as air, deviled eggs, a bowl of grapes, a wedge of red-rind cheddar cheese, and a smaller glass next to the wineglass, which foretold a bottle of port or sherry miraculously appearing.

Bohai poured a glass of wine and handed it to me, bowing yet again.

—Thank you.

The wine was crisp, dry, and fruity. Bohai showed the label; it was from France.

Callum returned, clapped his hand together, and said,—This looks wonderful, Bohai.

—Thank you, sir.

—This is more feast than picnic, I said.

—Dorcas told me you were royalty. I couldn’t very well have you sitting on the ground eating hardtack, could I?

—Ah, is that what Dorcas said? She said it derisively, didn’t she?

—Of course.

He held out a chair and I sat. Bohai carved the ham.

—I’m not royalty, you know.

—I didn’t imagine you were, but Dorcas was ranting and raving, so I didn’t ask her to elaborate. It’s usually best to let her vent, then ignore her. Why did she think you were royalty?

—My husband was the second son of a duke. The Duke of Parkerton. In England, the first son is the heir, the second son goes into the military, the third son goes into the church.

—What about the fourth son?

—Law most likely, possibly a doctor. But they’re all libertines. They marry plain heiresses who silently suffer their peccadillos and watch their fortunes evaporate in the London gambling halls. My husband, as a second son, went into the army. Was a hero of the Crimea.

—The Charge of the Light Brigade?

—Yes.

—My father told me in one of his letters. He liked your husband very much.

—Hmm. Well, turned out my father-in-law and his heir, Edward, were the gamblers. By the time we married, there was very little Parker fortune left, and Thomas’s brother had risen to the dukedom. Thomas was determined to strike it rich in the West, to help refill his family coffers.

—He didn’t, though?

—No. His brother died without issue, and the title went to Thomas. By the time we got the letter, Thomas had died as well, and with him the line. So yes. Technically for three months I was the Duchess of Parkerton. But not according to any official records. Thomas hadn’t returned to claim it, you see?

—If he had, would you have inherited the title?

—No idea, though it’s highly doubtful. I made the mistake of telling a friend of the title, and Duchess has become somewhat of a mocking nickname.

—May I call you that?

—I’d rather you not. Garet is fine.

—I will stop peppering you with questions. Eat. Please.

I did, and it was delicious. For his part, Callum ate the rolls and the deviled eggs, avoiding the ham, though it was succulent and tender, and drinking half of the bottle of wine before I’d finished a glass. I ignored Callum, though I felt his eyes on me, and focused on my meal, the sound of birdsong, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the gentle bubbling of the river, the stomp of a horse’s hoof. My senses have been highly attuned to the world around me, as if longing to take everything in so the memory of it will stay with me, manifest itself in the afterlife. As if I deserve to be surrounded by things I love. As if I deserve heaven.

Forgive me, Grace. I’m becoming maudlin. It happens more often than not, though I have done a magnificent job of keeping those thoughts out of this journal.

When I finished, I sat back in my chair while Bohai poured the sherry. I sniffed it, toasted Callum, and drank it in one shot.

—Is this my last meal, Callum?

—I’m sorry?

—You obviously hold Dorcas and her opinions in little regard since you’ve ordered an elaborate picnic of silver and china for the woman who confessed to stealing from your father.

—You see, there is the key point: you stole from my father. I couldn’t care less. By the time I came to Colorado, that loss had been absorbed. The check you gave me was, to my mind, pure profit. You confessed, you seemed to have a legitimate complaint against him. For me, it’s ancient history.

—And for Dorcas?

—Oh, she holds a grudge. She doesn’t understand why you would turn my father’s marriage proposal down. I, on the other hand, admire you for it.

—Why?

He leaned forward.—I like strong women.

I laughed.—Do you?

—Indeed, I do.

—You like the idea of strong women. When confronted with a woman who speaks her mind, who challenges you, who won’t do as you bid, your opinion will change quickly, I venture.

—Are you willing to challenge me, Garet?

—Are you propositioning me?

He leaned back in his chair and hooked his arm over the back in an insouciant manner.—Isn’t that why you’re here? Why you came with me?

—To be your lover? No. I came to see my ranch.

—That is disappointing.

—Why would you think that?

—It’s widely known you took Jed Spooner into your bed almost as soon as your husband was buried. Knowing your husband was missing an arm, I thought that you had a soft spot for deformed men.

—Jed wasn’t deformed.

—But he was an outlaw. That is its own kind of deformity.

—You think so?

—Deformity of the soul.

—If Jed suffers from that, then so does every businessman I’ve ever encountered, especially your father. Businessmen are as much outlaws as gangs like Spooner’s, or even the James Gang.

—Murderers?

—You aren’t so ignorant as to think your business decisions don’t affect people’s livelihoods and in turn their health and well-being. You may not pull the trigger, but you are responsible for their deaths.

—Interesting argument, but full of holes. You forget we live in the land of opportunity. If a man works hard he can, and will, succeed.

—And a woman? I worked hard. My family worked hard. We succeeded, but in the end, our livelihood was stolen from us.

Callum shrugged.—I don’t make the rules, Duchess. I just play by them.

—Don’t call me that.

Callum stood and stretched.

—This conversation took a turn I didn’t expect, though I suppose I should have. Dorcas told me you were opinionated.

—I prefer intelligent.

—I’ll get the horses.

We swam our horses across the river and continued on at a sedate pace, though I was stewing in anger at Callum’s proposition and our infuriating conversation. Too many businessmen were crooks and liars, but society rewarded them for their transgressions. Whereas women …

I’m sorry, Grace. No more talk of that. I’ve thought of it too much these past five years, the injustice, and I just do not have the energy to put it all down on paper. I’m sure you understand my thoughts. You are an intelligent woman trying to make it on your own. If you don’t understand yet, you will one day.

The sun was high overhead, and it didn’t take long for our clothes to dry. The land around became familiar, and I started recognizing landmarks from my past. We were getting closer to my ranch, and the only way to keep my anger at bay was to keep talking.

—What have you done with your father’s business since he died? It’s quite the empire, I understand.

—Empire? My father would be pleased to hear you call it that, but it is much too grandiose a name for a group of businesses, most of which barely break even, and the others are so expensive to run they’re almost not worth it. This weekend, I look to remedy that.

—How?

—By stealing from and murdering people, of course.

—Touché.

—I didn’t mean to anger you earlier, Margaret. You are correct that bad behavior in men is seen as strength and rewarded, but in women as weakness and punished. I am correct in that I didn’t make the rules, and I would be a fool to not play by the same set as other, more ruthless men.

—Justify it however you want. I, for one, don’t want to talk of it anymore. You and I won’t change anything this weekend. Am I to understand Dorcas ran your business while you were in South America?

—For someone out of the territory for years, you know a lot about my family.

—I read the papers, and I’m always on the lookout for news about Connolly Enterprises. To torture myself, you know.

—Yes, Dorcas ran the company. Made a few solid moves, but most of her acquisitions are the failing ones.

I made a noncommittal noise and suspected he was lying.

—I confess I was surprised to hear that you had come out west to run your father’s business. You and your father had … a strained relationship, from what I remember.

—He spoke of me to you?

—Not frequently, which is why I assumed your relationship was strained.

—He wanted me to come west with him, take advantage of the distraction of the war. I decided to stay, and then I fought for the wrong side.

—You were a rebel?

—I was, and I do not apologize for it.

We rode in silence for a mile or more. Soon we came to the fence line that delineated my old ranch. Colonel Connolly had not been pleased when Thomas and I decided to fence off our land. But it made sense since our stock was our livelihood, and we couldn’t very well have it running off into the foothills to return to its herd of wild mustangs. I was surprised to see the fence still there and in good repair. I’d expected the colonel to tear it down as soon as the girls and I rode away.

Mares and foals grazed in the distance. Ducks swam in the tank that provided water for the herd. The mountains behind hadn’t changed, nor had I expected them to. Memories of sitting on our back porch together, Thomas and I, drinking coffee in the morning, whisky at night, watching the sun rise behind us and set in front of us, conversations about running the business, about the horses to keep, the ones to sell, and the ones to breed. In the distance some seemed familiar, though none of those horses could be from my stock, stolen by the army.

Colonel Connolly had planted trees along the fence line near the entrance to our ranch, but they were young enough I could see my house before we arrived. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and I grasped my stomach and leaned over.

—Duchess, are you ill?

I glared at Callum for the use of that infernal nickname, said that the pain comes and goes and that I had a tincture I could take once we dismounted. He nodded and looked me up and down. I think that until that moment, Callum had doubted my illness. I smiled. It was one of the few things I hadn’t lied to him about.

When we turned onto the lane leading up to my house, I kicked my horse into a lope, eager to arrive, to see if Callum had been truthful himself when he said my home hadn’t changed much in the preceding five years. I pushed my horse faster and faster until his hooves thundered on the hard ground, kicking up dust, alerting the cowboys in the corral that we had arrived. I reined in my horse, and he slid on his back legs to a stop. He reared when I gave him his head, and I knew I had to have this horse.

—How much for him?

—Too much for a woman with only months to live.

—I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do than ride this fine animal every day until then. It helps me forget my pain. What is his name?

—Whatever you like.

—Me?

—He is yours.

—Oh, I couldn’t let you give him to me.

—Of course you could. He’s from your stock, anyways.

I paused.

—The army took my stock. There was nothing left.

—They gave most of it back to my father.

–What are you saying? That the army did not requisition my horses? That not only did your father steal my ranch, but he stole my horses as well?

—That’s about the sum of it, yes.

—And you think giving me a horse will make up for all your family has taken for me?

—I did not take anything from you, just as you have not stolen anything from me. Right?

—Yet here you are living in my house, riding my horses. I was left destitute, Callum. My family and I were starving, and all because of your father’s greed. When I speak of the consequences of greed, it isn’t hypothetical. I lived it. Barely survived it. And you seem to have no remorse whatsoever about what was done to me.

–This is why women should not be in business. They’re too emotional and take everything that is done to them personally, just as you did.

—Yes, I consider starvation personal. Though I imagine you have never wanted for anything in your life.

—You know nothing about me, Duchess. There’re plenty of times during the war where me and my men went without food. We boiled leather to soften it up to have something to eat.

—You expect me to feel sorry for an army that fought to enslave others? You will not get my sympathy, Mr. Connolly.

—And you will not get your ranch back.

A cowhand arrived and Connolly gave him the reins of his horse, and I did the same. Thrumming with rage, I followed Connolly up the steps of my house and walked to the front door for the first time in four years. Connolly was right, nothing had changed. And that makes it all the worse.

The main room was the original cabin Thomas and I had built when we arrived in 1864. Over the years, as we accumulated family members such as Jehu and Hattie and Joan and Stella, along with countless other women who used our ranch as a way station to get their lives back together before moving on, we added rooms as they were needed until we had four bedrooms, a kitchen, and the main room with an office in the corner where I would do our books every night. The rag rug Stella and Joan had made when they first arrived still lay in front of the fireplace. Thomas’s desk, which in truth was my desk, hadn’t moved, though it didn’t look as well lived-in as it had when it was mine. The leather chair behind the desk showed more wear, and a rack of moose antlers hung on the wall behind the desk.

—Those are new.

—Those were here when I arrived. I suppose it was my father’s trophy.

A Chinese woman came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel and stopped at the sight of me. My anger dissipated at the sight of my old friend.

—Hello, Zhu Li.

—Miss Margaret.

—I suppose Julie came with the ranch, too, Callum said.

—Something like that. How are you, Zhu Li?

—Good. Was lunch to your satisfaction?

—It was delicious, thank you, Callum said.

—Yes, it was. I should have known you were behind those rolls.

—It is Hattie’s recipe.

—I realize that now.

—Would you like to see the barns? Callum said.

—Yes.

I grasped Zhu Li’s hand as I passed and told her we would talk later.

The barns and corrals had been expanded to accommodate the larger horse operation. A bunkhouse had been built behind the barn near the creek. I counted ten cowboys within my sight and knew that to run a ranch as large as what Colonel Connolly had obtained through cheating and theft, there had to be at least as many more out working the land.

I stood on the corral fence and inspected the herd. Fully half of the herd came from our best stud, a gray thoroughbred that had somehow been bought, sold, and traded from Kentucky to Colorado, losing an eye and most of his value along the way. He didn’t need two eyes to mount our mustangs, and that he excelled at. Jehu pampered and petted Crockett, and Thomas remarked more than once that there wasn’t a man alive who didn’t envy a stud’s life of rutting every female in his sight and having his every whim indulged.

—No wonder I liked my mount. He’s from Crockett.

Callum leaned on the fence.

—The one-eyed horse? Yes. Most of the mares here are. The foals aren’t. Crockett broke his leg last year. Had to be put down.

It was a blow, but time waits for no man.

Callum regaled me with the statistics of the ranch, how many acres it was, how many horses they had, cows, sheep, goats. He didn’t sound as if he was bragging, so what else could he be doing, telling me these things? He had to know it would infuriate me, especially after our conversation from earlier. But I would not rise to his bait. I would get back at him later by hitting as many of his businesses as possible before I died. So I congratulated him on his great fortune, on his ability to turn my ranch into the success I always knew it would be. I even said something about how since I wouldn’t be around much longer I was happy that my horses—his horses—would be so well taken care of, and that I had always worried about the life my stock had as army beasts. Apparently he liked the sentiments because he offered me a warm smile. His gaze slid down to my lips and back as he pulled a silver case of prerolled cigarettes from his inner pocket.

—Would you like one?

—May I smoke my own?

I hoped to shock him, but he merely said,—By all means, and lit my cigarette when I produced it. I blew a long trail of smoke.

—Why have you never married?

—Isn’t it obvious?

—Not to me, no.

—Hmm. I was engaged before the war to a South Carolinian girl. She is why I went into the Confederate army. Her father wouldn’t let us marry unless I did. I didn’t care one way or the other about slavery or states’ rights, but I loved Constance. We wanted to get married before the fighting started, but her father refused. I think he was afraid I would desert to the Union, as if having me on their side would turn the tide of the war. I never wanted to be a soldier, but if I was going to enlist I wanted it to be as an officer. I was commissioned as a lieutenant in the Army of Northern Virginia. The first couple of years weren’t terrible. We won more than we lost, at least. When we finally started to lose, their belief in the South, and states’ rights, and the inferiority of the black man hardened. They never lost faith, but they were no longer fighting for a noble idea. Fear drove them.

—Of?

—What the world would be like with Negroes walking down the street next to them. Losing all that free labor.

—And your injury? Is it from the war?

—Yes. It happened in a skirmish after the surrender at Appomattox. My fiancée preferred the whole, handsome version of my face. In the years since, the only women who will look at my face I pay handsomely. Besides you, Garet.

—I know that there is more to a man than what you can see. I also know I’m not the only woman who can see past your …

—Deformity.

—Injury.

—Possibly. But how would I know they aren’t merely interested in my empire, as you called it?

—I suppose it would be difficult to know. Which is why you’re lucky you have Dorcas, who is family and has only the family’s best interest at heart.

Callum laughed.

—Dorcas’s interest lies with herself. She knows that I’m the only thing keeping her from destitution, so she does whatever I ask, no matter how demeaning.

—That is unbelievably cruel, to treat a woman, your own flesh and blood, like that merely because society allows you to.

—Do you think Dorcas, if the situation were reversed, would treat me any differently?

—Yes, I do.

—You’re wrong. She would see in me what I see in her: a threat. She loved running the company and would like nothing more than for me to be met with a freak accident so that she would have control of the company once again.

—If you two worked together, you would be a formidable pair.

—You sound like you admire her.

—We were friends before I turned down your father. Why she hates me now I can’t even begin to imagine.

I flicked the end of my cigarette onto the dirt and ground it out under my boot.

—I’m going to rest before dinner, if you don’t mind.

—Of course. Though I do have one question.

—Yes?

—Why didn’t you go back to England to see your family? To be with them in your last days?

—They are all dead.

—What about friends?

—They moved on.

—You’re alone in the world?

—No. Since I’ve been in Denver, I’ve made friends in the suffragist movement.

—You’re a suffragist?

—Of course. I’ve been thinking it would be a good way to spend my final days, helping future generations of women, especially since I leave no children of my own.

—Why do you want to vote? It’s only more to worry about, to think about. The issues are complex and women do not have the education, or the turn of mind, to understand them well enough to make informed decisions.

—I think we understand the complexities more than men. We are less concerned with what men think of us and with our own importance, and want to do what is fair and just, and to get things done.

—Yes, of course. You think we are all thieves and murderers.

—Men want to do what will serve them, and their pocketbooks, best. I suppose there are some men who care about the good of others before themselves, but they are rare indeed.

—Like that Blackwell man.

—You’re familiar with the cause? Is Dorcas part of it?

—I’m not sure if she attends meetings, but I know she sympathizes with them. It’s all over the papers how the easterners are coming out here to give talks on the amendment. It is a tactical error by Governor Routt. People don’t take kindly to outsiders telling them what to do.

—Unfortunately, being an Englishwoman, no one will want to hear my take on women’s suffrage.

—If England had given women the vote, they might.

—There goes my idea of riding my horse through the mountains, saying goodbye to its glorious beauty, and stumping for suffrage along the way.

—You are welcome to come with me on my tour.

—Another proposition?

—This one is purely professional. You can act as my secretary, as Dorcas would have. Are you well enough to come? It will be two weeks, at least.

—I am fully supplied with hashish and laudanum.

—I thought your tobacco smelled funny.

—Why would you want me along?

—I like arguing with you.

I laughed.—Well, I imagine we would do plenty of that.

—There is one condition.

—Yes?

—No stumping.

—Agreed.

Saturday, August 11, 1877
Poudre River Ranch, Colorado

I feel a little taken in. Callum told me this morning over breakfast that guests would be arriving today and he would be having a dinner party tonight. When I said I didn’t have anything to wear, he smiled and said he’d taken the liberty of bringing a dress for me and that it would be in my room when I finished breakfast.

It is a shocking red dress with a fitted bodice and a straight skirt with a small bustle in the back. Black lace trims the three-quarter sleeves and frames the small opal buttons that run down the center of the bodice. I suppose I should be thankful the neckline is modest, but everything else about the dress is horrid, like nothing I would ever wear. Zhu Li came into the room, sewing kit in hand, and told me she would alter it however I wanted. There wasn’t much hope that I would like the dress no matter what she did, but I had her remove all the lace, making it nominally less offensive. The dress fit me perfectly, a fact I didn’t examine too closely.

Callum left to help round up cattle while I was working with Zhu Li, which suited me perfectly. It gave us a chance to catch up without fear of being interrupted. It has been three years since I saw Zhu Li, and she hadn’t changed a bit. She still wore a beige linen tunic and pants and her hair in a long ponytail down her back. She still covered her mouth when she giggled, to hide her crooked teeth. Her eyes still crinkled when she laughed, and she talked to herself under her breath in Mandarin as she worked.

Jehu had brought her home from Denver about six months after Thomas died, and she had immediately taken over our kitchen. It never ran so well before or since, even though Joanie learned a lot about organization and timing a dinner at Zhu Li’s elbow. In an effort to beat me by attrition, Colonel Connolly had enticed Zhu Li to work for him for double what she made with me, which was still well below what she was worth. The women who stayed with us worked for room and board and a little Saturday spending money, so it hadn’t taken much for the colonel to lure her away. We didn’t blame her in the slightest; a woman alone had to look out for herself and her own financial well-being.

When she finished pinning my dress I asked after the man she had been seeing three years ago, and with a beaming expression she told me they were married and that he was Bohai. No children, and she said they would most likely not come, that she was too old to have children. It shocked me. I’d never known how old she was, but her smooth face and dark hair made it difficult to believe she was past the childbearing age. She didn’t ask after my family, knowing that my answer would have been much the same as it had been the last time I saw her.

I told her that I would be writing letters at Callum’s desk. She told me to come to her if I needed anything at all and went into the kitchen, where Bohai and another man were sweating over a worktable and stove, getting ready for the dinner.

I closed the door without latching it and went to the desk. This had been the objective: Callum’s office. In the absence of being able to break into his Denver office, I hoped to be able to parse enough information about his businesses from correspondence here to know which were the best to hit. I’d never dreamed he would ask me to go on his business tour with him. I suppose I should thank whatever poor, starving man mugged Dorcas two nights ago for this great stroke of luck. But it didn’t hurt to do a little snooping when I had the chance.

I found a piece of paper and pen and started a letter to give a sheen of truth to my lie in case I was caught. I looked out the window and saw the cowboys busy in the corral, went to the door and listened and heard only the faint sounds of the cooks.

A stack of letters revealed negotiations for investment in a smelter near Oro City, a letter from a marble miner trying to gin up interest for a mine in the Crystal River Valley, an update on mining operations in the Sweetwater area of Wyoming, a raunchy love letter from a woman named Daisy accompanied by a racy photo. She was rather pretty, but she surely must be a whore. A respectable woman, even a mistress, wouldn’t have such a photo taken. I flipped it over and saw a familiar mark denoting the photographer, though no name. I shook my head. Looked like Rosemond had expanded her portraiture business. I hoped she kept Newt out of it.

These letters, while interesting, did nothing to further my purpose. The bottom desk drawer was closed and locked but was easy enough to open with the letter opener. I grinned and pulled out a ledger. I flipped through it and discovered it was merely the accounts for the ranch. I ran my finger down the details of their horse operation. The army was a big client, which was no surprise. I swore under my breath when I saw the profit line. The Connollys were reaping the benefits of the ranch I’d started, the herd I’d nurtured and bred into the horses they were selling the army, and others, at a pretty penny. Goddammit.

I stared out the office window, not seeing what was in front of me, seething with the injustice of it all. I had never understood why the colonel had been so hell-bent on destroying me. We weren’t in direct competition, so why couldn’t we have coexisted, helped each other out? It could only be pride and greed that had driven the colonel. Two of the seven deadly sins, three if you count what he did to me as wrath, and I do. I take some comfort in knowing that the colonel is burning in hell, but not much.

I need to get out of this house.

Saturday, August 11, 1877 cont

I am dressed in this red monstrosity and have a half hour before dinner to put down the events of the remainder of the day. I hope the dinner will be dull and end early so I can go to bed. Pain ramps up in the evening.

This afternoon I changed into my habit and went to the barn. I retrieved my horse (whom I have decided to name Storm after his dark-gray coat) from his stall and tied him to a ring fastened to the wall outside the tack room.

—Can I help you?

I jumped and turned. A cowboy stood in the door, bright light framing his silhouette and casting his face into darkness. Fear pulsed through me.

—I’m sorry, I was looking for brushes.

—Miss Margaret? Is it really you?

The cowboy removed his hat and moved closer. I could see that he was young, no more than twenty, I guessed. He wore khaki pants and a denim work shirt with a red bandanna knotted around his neck. His fair hair was flattened against his head, and he had deep brown eyes framed with dark eyelashes. The memory of a small, shy boy clinging to his mother’s leg came into my mind.

—Ezekiel?

His face flushed red with pleasure and he stammered out,—You remember me?

—Of course I do.

He and his mother, Lana Barnes, had been the first people Jehu had brought home with him. I told her she was welcome to stay as long as she needed if she pulled her weight. She and Zeke had stayed for six months, enough time for her to heal from her outer wounds, as well as her inner ones. She’d answered an ad in the paper for a housekeeper at a boardinghouse in Golden and had gotten the job. When she and Zeke left, Lana asked if she could tell others about the ranch. I said of course, there would always be room for those in need. In addition to the women Jehu rescued, our ranch became something of an underground railroad for women who wanted to escape abusive, drunken husbands, controlling pimps or madams, or, sometimes, overbearing families.

—It’s so good to see you, Zeke. How is your mother?

—Good. She and her husband live in Black Hawk. They own a boardinghouse.

—Does she? That’s wonderful.

—It’s all thanks to you.

—Oh, Zeke. No. Your mother was a wonderful woman. Smart and strong. I had no doubt when you left that she would do well. Look at you, all grown up, and a cowboy, just like you wanted.

—Yes, ma’am. I came back here in ’75, looking for you and Mr. Thomas and Jehu.

—You came here for us?

—Yes, ma’am. I wanted to thank you, maybe see if you would take me on.

—I sure would have.

—I was right angry when I learned what happened to you. I didn’t know the details when I took the job, I want you to know that.

—That’s very sweet to say, Zeke.

—It’s the truth. If the old man hadn’t died right before I got here, I would have killed him myself.

—Oh, Zeke, no.

The boy’s expression had an intensity, and his voice took on an urgency, that caught me off guard, but made my heart swell with emotion.

—Miss Margaret, you don’t understand. I don’t think my ma ever told you the whole story about us.

She hadn’t told me anything, and I hadn’t asked. It wasn’t my place to pry into people’s business, into what had brought them to us. Lana Barnes’s cuts, bruises, and skittishness told a story well enough.

—Y’all saved us. We’d have been dead for years now if it wasn’t for Jehu buying me an ice cream. And then you and Mr. Thomas treating us so nice. My ma does the same now, you know. Helps people in need like you did. She married a good man who’s plumb happy to let her boss him around.

Emotion clogged my throat, but I laughed. Lana had been a little bossy, once she got used to us.

—That’s so wonderful to hear, Zeke. Tell her I am happy for her.

—You should go see her. She would love it.

I smiled, swallowed the lump in my throat.

—I might just do that. But right now, I want to go for a ride.

—I’ve got something for you.

He went to the back corner of the tack room and pulled a cloth off a saddle horse. There, bright and shiny as new, was my husband Thomas’s English saddle.

I gasped.—Zeke.

After the colonel stole the ranch from me, and we went through what little money we had, the first things we sold were our horses and tack. We had the idea to make a go of it in a town, thinking there would be more opportunities available for us. There were, of course, but nothing that any of us wanted to do for a living. When Spooner took us to Timberline, we kitted up with western saddles and mountain ponies. No one wanted a horse broken with an English saddle, and there wasn’t enough time to ride for pleasure.

—I found this ole pancake back here in the corner all dusty and cobwebby when I was cleaning out the tack room. I knew it must have been yours. It took me a while to get the leather supple again, lots of soap, a little bit of linseed oil, and it’s good as new. Want me to saddle your horse with it?

—Yes. You think he’ll take it?

—Sure thing. Broke him myself. He can be ridden without a saddle or bridle.

—Jehu would be proud of you.

—How is Jehu? Is he with you?

I told him Jehu was doing fine and tried to tell him as much as possible about our life without revealing too much. When he finished I thanked him and asked him for a favor.

—Anything.

—Don’t let anyone know you know me, especially Callum. And keep what I’ve told you to yourself.

Zeke nodded.

—Whatever you say, Miss Margaret. Don’t forget to go visit my ma. Anything you need, anything at all, she can help.

I put my foot into his cupped hands and he boosted me on Storm’s back. The horse danced a little, as eager to let loose as I was.

—He’s a fiesty one, but he’s got a sensitive mouth, so … Zeke stopped and blushed, realizing whom he was giving advice to. I thanked him anyway and with a nod, I trotted Storm out of the back of the barn toward a stagecoach trail up beyond the first row of foothills. Storm summited the hill easily. We turned right, and I gave the horse his head, toward Colonel Connolly’s ranch.

Though I don’t need another reason to want this beautiful horse, when I’m riding I forget the pain in my stomach, which is growing more insistent with each passing day. I’m weaker, as well, and it is taking all of my mental acuity to hide the depth of my sickness from everyone: Callum, Hattie, Grace. I’m thankful I have planning the heists to occupy my mind, otherwise I would be curled into a ball in bed. When I’m busy, I’m distracted, and if I don’t think about the pain, it recedes. The challenge then becomes fatigue. I can either have less pain and be tired, or rest and be in pain. I’ll take the former, thank you very much.

I wonder if I will survive the trip with Callum. I imagine that if there’s an issue with a business, he’ll extend his trip. Do I want to die in a strange hotel, away from those I love, with a man I’m ambivalent about as the only witness to my last moments on earth?

I don’t want to die in bed, that I know for certain. I watched Thomas waste away, fully aware that he was wasting away. It was a humiliating and shameful way for a man, once so strong and full of vigor, to leave the world. When I think of Thomas, I think of him as a living cadaver in our bed, the sheets folded across his chest, his arms thin and spindly outside the blanket and next to his body. I want to be remembered as healthy, vibrant, clever, resilient, and most importantly, selfless. Asking my family to watch me die would be cruel, and I hope I’ve never been that.

If it wouldn’t be a betrayal to my family, to the bond I have with Hattie, Jehu, and the sisters, I would ride off on my own, south to the Grand Canyon, find a ledge to sit on, watch the sun rise and set, see firsthand the brilliant colors I’ve heard so much about, and fade away. With a large bottle of laudanum and whisky, of course. I don’t want to die in pain if I can help it. But surrounded by beauty? That’s the way to go.

Maybe I should have a gun on the ledge with me, too.

I reined up, dismounted Storm, and tied him to a scrubby tree. I clambered up a small rocky rise, sat down heavily on the outcropping, and looked down upon the colonel’s ranch in the distance. I let my mind wander to Zeke and his mother and the dozens of other women and children and the few men who came through our ranch. A few had kept in touch, written us letters letting us know where they ended up, what they were doing. Others left and we never heard from them again. I wish I could say that helping people became a mission of mine, a calling (though by now, Grace, you know I don’t believe in God), but it was simply the right thing to do. Thomas and I didn’t have much, though I could see how someone might think we did, looking at our tidy little horse ranch on the Poudre River. But turning away people who asked for help was never considered. Thomas and I never discussed it, though he would joke about Jehu bringing home strays.

Zeke’s compliments and effusive thanks embarrassed me, if you want to know the truth of it. I hardly deserve credit for changing their lives when I offered them room and board in return for an honest day’s work. I’m glad to hear about Lana’s happiness and success, and Zeke has turned into a dab hand at breaking horses if Storm is any indication.

I unbuttoned my vest, lay back on the rock, covered my face with my hat, and listened—to the insects buzzing nearby, the pit-er-wick and hoodle-hoodle calls of birds in the trees high above, the wind rustling the leaves, the shush of brush disturbed by an animal. Peace and quiet. Only the sound of a bubbling brook would make the moment more perfect.

I felt the lump in my abdomen and wondered if I hadn’t made a mistake in not going east and having an operation. Or at least going to Denver and having another doctor examine me. But there hadn’t been any pain at that point, and part of me hadn’t believed there would be any pain in the end. I felt great, after all. Life went on, we did another job, had horses to break, a ranch to run, winter to survive. By the time it started hurting I figured it was too late. I didn’t want to take the chance I wouldn’t return from Chicago. So I’ve been going about the process of tidying up the last few months, making sure that Jehu, Hattie, Joan, and Stella know everything they need to know, that they are prepared for a time when I won’t be around. They are. In fact, I’ve started to feel a little superfluous and wonder what I contribute to the ranch at all. I see my last days spread out in front of me, sitting by the fire, a Navajo blanket on my lap, being waited on by everyone, the dog at my feet looking up at me with sad brown eyes. The stagecoach job was a welcome distraction, one last hurrah before Margaret Parker faded into history. Then you had to tempt me with immortality, and the idea of fading away, already anathema to me, became unbearable.

I suppose I should thank Jed Spooner, the bastard, for throwing down this bet and giving me a reason to live. I haven’t told Hattie yet, but I don’t intend to return to Timberline. I haven’t quite figured out how I’m going to slip away from her, or you, Grace, but I am. I said my goodbyes before I left the Hole.

If our mark is big enough, the take will set them up for years, and I can die knowing they are taken care of. That’s why I have to go with Callum on this tour, to find the best target, the most lucrative one, the one where we are least likely to get caught. Maybe there’s one. Maybe there’s five. Maybe it’s as simple as robbing the safe in his Denver office. In three weeks I’ll know.

I dozed for a while, and when I woke up the sun was just above the foothills. I had no idea what time dinner was, or when the guests would be arriving. Luckily, I had a fast horse who was well rested. I could be at my ranch in thirty minutes or less.

I grimaced against the pain as I rose and took a few deep breaths. Sweat beaded on my upper lip and was dried by the wind almost immediately. Down below, to the north of the colonel’s house, cowboys were driving a large herd of fat cattle toward the ranch, bringing them in from summer grazing to be sold to the army, or shipped off to the meatpacking plants in the East. A thin stream of smoke rose from the house, and near the barns cowboys readied the corrals for the herd. I noticed for the first time that Connolly had fenced in the pasture near the house. I suspected it was Callum’s doing, since the last time I’d been at this spot, observing the house, the fence hadn’t been there.

No, this wasn’t my first time back, Grace. I’m not sure if I trust you with that story yet.

Three men walked out of the back of the house. It was too far away to make out their faces, but the glint from Callum’s metal mask flashed in my eyes. I’d been around long enough to recognize the stance of one of the men as that of a cowboy or rustler. The other was rotund and most likely a businessman. I imagine I will meet them at dinner. Hours of talking to businessmen, or listening to them talk about business. It won’t occur to them to ask for my opinion. Little do they know I will give it to them anyways.

Sunday, August 12, 1877 (midnight)

I feel like a Christmas goose right now, stuffed past the point of propriety. Zhu Li helped me out of my dress and took it away (I wonder if to keep it handy for the next woman Callum brings to his house), and I’m sitting at the small writing table, in my loose shift, writing this. The wind has picked up outside, and the house is creaking in response. There is a full moon as well. Perfect conditions for a midnight job. I’ve got the fever to do a job. I’m not sure I can wait until October first.

As much as I didn’t want to participate, as much as Callum sprang the dinner on me last minute, it was possibly one of the most enjoyable dinner parties I’ve ever been to. Granted, I haven’t been to many since I left England, and even then I was young and not expected, or able, to participate in “real” conversation. So, thinking on it, saying this was the best dinner party of my life is rather faint praise. It does make me wonder what I’ve missed. How many dinners like these would I have attended if I’d married the colonel. Probably countless, but I doubt the colonel would have let me speak as freely as his son did tonight, or enjoyed the spectacle of conflicting opinions as much as Callum did.

First the actors. Governor John Routt and his wife, Eliza; Nathaniel P. Hill, a gold smelter; Lewis and Dorothy Wilson, dry goods proprietors with stores in Cheyenne, Denver, and Golden, and a contract with the military for sutler stores; Callum’s lawyer, Alexander Bisson, and his companion, Evangeline White. Bisson was an unwelcome surprise; he had been the colonel’s lawyer as well, and had done his bidding, namely going to every bank within fifty miles and threatening them with retribution if they lent me money to keep my Poudre River ranch going.

Callum must have warned Bisson I would be in attendance, at least. Bisson greeted me as an old friend. I told him he’d gotten fat. His companion, pleasantly plump and pretty and obviously being paid for her time, covered her smile by looking away. Bisson’s face froze in a ridiculous grin before sliding into a frown.

—I hear you’re dying.

—We’re all dying, Alex. I just have a better notion of the date.

Callum intervened and ushered me away. I chastised him for not warning me about Bisson.

—I didn’t make the connection you two would know each other.

—Liar. He knows I’m sick, you must have discussed me.

Callum’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he dipped his head in a semblance of contrition, saying he hadn’t realized we had an antagonistic relationship.

I laughed, then dropped my voice so the others wouldn’t overhear.

—We are having dinner in what was my house, the house my husband and I built together, and you didn’t think I would have an antagonistic relationship with the lawyer who helped steal it from me? I am not stupid, Callum. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but know this: I’m not easily manipulated.

—Neither am I.

Callum pulled out the chair at the end of the table, where the hostess would sit.

—Do me the honor, he said in a low voice.

I looked down the table and realized all of the places were assigned, and the men were waiting for me to be seated. I had little choice, so I sat down, and his hands lingered on my shoulders. He put his masked face close to mine and whispered that he had known red would be my color. I shivered, not in pleasure.

Bisson glared at me, and I pointedly looked at his stomach, which touched the edge of the table. Evangeline White raised her eyebrows and glanced between Callum and me with a knowing expression, and I realized she thought I was Callum’s lover. He sat at the other end of the table and smiled around at his guests, looking relaxed and in charge. He leaned forward to listen to something Eliza Routt said and laughed, his blue eyes almost sparkling. He was in high spirits, and I wondered why.

It didn’t take long to realize he was in his element. He was charming and engaging, and he put all his guests at ease by talking on a variety of subjects, subjects the women could discuss as well as the men. We were barely into the soup course when the subject of suffrage was brought up. Apparently the governor is a supporter, his wife is heavily involved in the cause, and he had arranged for the East Coast suffragists to tour Colorado promoting it.

—You have school suffrage, which is perfectly adequate. Child rearing is the purview of women, so of course they should have their voices heard on education, Lewis Wilson said.

—You approve of women running for the school boards, then? Eliza Routt said.

—Heavens, no. Leadership is the purview of men.

I asked why he thought men were better leaders than women.

—It is the natural order of things, of course. Men have the mental capacity for complicated issues and make decisions based on facts and not emotions.

—That’s ridiculous, Eliza Routt said.

—We have a perfect example of the failure of women’s leadership and business acumen sitting at this table, Bisson said, looking directly at me.

—Women need capital to run a business, same as men. It is difficult to do when banks are strong-armed into not lending to you, I said.

—That’s why I own a bank, Callum said, and he turned the conversation to Nathaniel Hill’s smelter.

Hill enthusiastically took over the conversation and talked of his plans to expand to other towns, wandering into a tangent about how he’d gone to Wales to work with the miners and perfect their process for Colorado gold. We were well into the main course by the time he finished explaining, in painstaking detail, how it worked. He was a scientist who had at least had the business acumen to open his own smelter instead of working for someone else, though I imagined the pitch of an investment opportunity would come Callum’s way when the men had retired to drink whisky and smoke cigars.

The governor didn’t seem to want anything from Callum, but instead was eager to do for Callum, one of the largest investors in the state.

—I can assure you, reining in the crime in this state is my administration’s top priority. There are difficulties, of course, with policing the central areas, let alone the remote ones.

—As my client is well aware, Bisson said.

—Yes, I heard you were robbed again, Connolly. I’ve upped security at my smelter as a precaution. How much did they get? Hill asked.

—Eight thousand.

There were gasps around the table. I did my best to look shocked as well.

—Callum, I had no idea, I said.

—I would imagine not, just returning to town as you did.

—I thought you’d hired Pinkerton to take care of it, Hill said.

Yes, and I am in the process of turning her outlaw. I hid my smile of pleasure behind my wineglass.

—I did, and he protected the wrong shipment. The gang is a clever bunch.

My ears perked up at that. He? Who is Grace working for if not Callum?

—How many times have you been robbed? Evangeline asked.

—And by the same group? Eliza Routt said.

—Four times. I’m not sure it’s the same gang. The descriptions of the bandits change every time. They do appear to be targeting my businesses exclusively.

—You are one of the biggest investors in Colorado, and I suppose the risk goes with the territory, I said.

—You could be right.

—What is Pinkerton doing now? Hill asked.

—He has sent his best agent to infiltrate the gang.

—Sounds a good idea, Governor Routt said.

—I’ve heard rumors they’re a female gang. Is that right? Evangeline said.

The men scoffed, all talking about how ridiculous an idea it was. Except Callum. He was watching me while the others talked over each other about how women were more moral, lacked the intelligence, the mental capacity, the courage, and John and Eliza Routt defended women’s intelligence, but didn’t approve of criminal activity no matter the sex.

—Margaret, you’re quiet.

—As are you.

—What do you think of the idea that the gang is female, pretending to be men?

—What does it matter if it’s women or men? You are still being robbed.

—True. I just thought you might have an insight into the possibility since, of the people surrounding this table, you are the only one who has befriended an outlaw.

I glanced at Evangeline, who had taken a keen interest in cutting her steak. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s serviced an outlaw or two in her time, maybe even Spooner. She was his type: voluptuous, blonde, and willing.

—Are you asking me if I think women have the intelligence and cunning to be outlaws?

—Yes.

—Of course they do.

—They would never get away with it, with the way women like to talk so, Hill said.

I found that a highly ironic statement coming from the man who’d spent almost two courses talking without pause. By her chuckle, Evangeline did, too.

—That’s unfair. I know plenty of women who keep their own counsel. I doubt it because of the immorality of it, Dorothy Wilson said.

—Stealing is stealing. Why should it be more amoral, more shocking, for one sex to do it than the other? I asked.

—It’s not in women’s nature, Hill said.

—Precisely, Dorothy Wilson said.

—I assure you, human nature is the same for women and men. Men can love with the same depth women do, and women can hate with the same intensity as men.

—But women would never do such a thing. It wouldn’t cross their minds, Dorothy Wilson said.

—You don’t know of one woman who would admit to it. Think of the women who steal to feed their families. Is there a difference between a woman and a man who steal bread, or fruit, or money, if the purpose—taking care of their family—is the same?

—There is not, Eliza Routt said.

—So why should there be a difference if a female outlaw gang steals from a larger … target than a bakery or fruit stand? If their goal is the same as men’s, then the morality behind it is equal.

—I don’t even understand what you’re saying, Dorothy Wilson said.

—You think women should be held to the same moral standard as men, not a higher one, Callum said.

—Why are women held to higher standards, except to let men have their vices without guilt? I asked.

—You don’t give our sex much credit for goodness, do you?

—To those who deserve credit for goodness I will.

I thought of Luke here, wondered what he was doing, and almost lost the thread of the conversation.

—Equality for men and women is what you want?

Wilson and Bisson laughed long and hard, as did Dorothy Wilson. Evangeline and Eliza watched with expectation, the governor with consternation, as if it suddenly occurred to him that the cause wouldn’t end with suffrage, that women would continue to agitate for more rights. Callum watched me with level eyes, waiting for my answer. I understood his implication well enough; equality in credit meant equality in punishment. It was a trap and I refused to be caught.

—I fear we will have to wait decades for that to come to fruition. And I was talking in generalities about women. We aren’t given enough credit for our intelligence, and too much credit for our morals. Evangeline, what do you think?

—Oh, I … uh …

—Jed Spooner is taking credit for the robberies. Tell me, Mrs. Parker, you knew Jed Spooner once, does that sound like something he would do? Callum asked.

—Rob you? Yes.

Everyone around the table laughed.

—It’s almost as if he has a vendetta against me.

—I wouldn’t know anything about that.

—How did you know Jed Spooner? the governor asked.

—My husband hired him on at our ranch, and they became friends, after a fashion. Jed would come and go, and he always had fantastical stories to tell on his return. We didn’t believe half of what he said. To answer your question without being glib, Callum, do I think Jed would go back to a well over and over that had been so fruitful? Yes.

—I can’t believe you harbored an outlaw, Eliza Routt said.

—We didn’t know he was an outlaw at first. Jed bought our horses, and brought us business, and had become our friend by the time we discovered it. So we looked the other way. As far as I know, he has always eschewed violence. I assure you, if that were not the case, we wouldn’t have offered him sanctuary.

—What is Spooner’s goal? To feed his family? Callum asked. Our eyes were locked, and I knew he was playing with me.

—Because he wasn’t good at anything else. He rode with Jesse James, did you know that?

—I did not.

—He left because James can’t seem to let go of the war, and he is violent. Spooner avoids violence wherever he can. He outlaws because it’s fun, and he’s good at it. Sometimes there’s a purpose; he robbed a bank once to get the money to pay a lawyer to get one of his men out of jail.

—Why not just break him out?

—Maybe he’s a coward? Maybe he was afraid to get caught? Maybe it was in Montana Territory, where he made an agreement to never set foot again on threat of hanging. I don’t remember. It was all a long time ago.

—Maybe Mrs. Parker can help you find him, Callum, Hill said.

I laughed and told them I’d been out of the territory for years and hadn’t spoken with Jed Spooner since I left.

—I imagine Spooner was disappointed to see you leave, Bisson said.

—Why is that, Alex?

—He stayed on at your ranch after your husband died.

—And he left a good year before your boss stole it. So what are you implying, exactly?

—Maybe if he’d stayed on you wouldn’t have lost your ranch.

I laughed long and hard.

—Jed is a terrible businessman. Why do you think he’s an outlaw? Are you sure that’s what you were implying? That I would miss Jed’s … business skills? Or were you implying he was my lover, Mr. Bisson?

—Mrs. Parker, I think you’ve dominated the conversation long enough, Lewis Wilson said.

—Yes, what’s for dessert? his wife asked.

I was angry now, and I wasn’t going to let this man insult me with insinuations. I wanted to shock the group, and why not? The hit my reputation would take would be short-lived.

God, Grace, dying is so freeing.

More to the point, I was ready for this dinner to end.

—You aren’t going to answer, Alex?

—You’re embarrassing yourself.

—Very likely. But you see, I don’t care. That’s the freedom of knowing you have little time to live.

—What? Evangeline said.

—I have cancer, Evangeline. Please don’t pity me. I’m not afraid of dying, and I’m obviously not afraid of not being “respectable” by calling Alex out for the … subtext in his conversation. Since I’ll never see any of you again, I’ll answer: yes, Spooner was my lover. It was one of the reasons I turned down the colonel’s marriage proposal. I couldn’t very well have a lover on the side, and I wasn’t quite ready to give Spooner up. By the time Spooner left, I’d insulted the colonel too much to go back on my rejection. I didn’t want to marry him anyways. After Spooner … Well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.

—You are a harlot, Lewis Wilson said.

—Mr. Wilson, your opinion matters not at all to me.

—What about your reputation? Eliza asked.

—I’ll be beyond caring soon enough. Now, if you don’t mind. I tire easily these days and must beg to be excused.

Callum nodded his head and said of course I could be excused.

—Thank you. It was a delicious dinner, and I hope I was adequate entertainment, which I believe it was my role to play. Good night.

So here I am. In my room, unable to sleep. The pain comes in waves, and since we are leaving tomorrow I don’t want to take too much laudanum. I am going for a smoke and will have to get dressed in case the men are still awake talking, drinking whisky, and smoking.

August 12, 1877 cont (2:00 a.m.)

My heart is racing and my hand is shaking after the encounter I had with Callum. I’m almost certain he suspects me. I need to get the events down in case …

I’d planned to smoke the cigarette outside on the back porch, maybe nick a sugar cube from the kitchen to take to Storm, and if the house was quiet when I was done, do a little more snooping in the office.

I found Callum sitting in front of the fire. He turned his head slightly when he heard my footsteps and said he hoped he hadn’t woken me. I demurred, said I’ve been having trouble sleeping for weeks. He was solicitous about my pain, said he had something I could take if I liked.

I showed him my cigarette, lit it with a punk from the fireplace and leaned against the mantel. His mask was balanced on his knee. His face was in shadow.

—I was going to smoke this on the porch. Would you like to join me?

—Would you like a whisky?

—I never turn down good whisky.

—I didn’t say it was good.

—I never turn down bad whisky, either.

—Go on out. I’ll bring you one. Grab my coat off the hook there. The temperature has dropped thirty degrees.

In the short moments before he came outside, I allowed myself to inhale the cold night air, to help it reinvigorate me. I looked at the night sky full of stars and marveled at how beautiful it was, and how small and insignificant I was. My problems. My goals. My death.

Callum handed me the whisky, keeping the injured side of his face turned away from me, but I noticed he didn’t wear his mask. I thanked him and we drank in somewhat companionable silence for a few minutes. He spoke first.

—Did you enjoy dinner?

—It was delicious.

—That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.

—Did I embarrass you?

—No. I’ve never enjoyed anything more than Bisson being put in his place. He’s a terrible hypocrite, a gluttonous man with appetites that exceed his reach.

—Why do you keep him around?

—He has no scruples, and he’s loyal as a dog.

Zhu Li brought a coat for Callum and helped him get into it. Callum said thank you in Chinese, and she bowed and left, but not without a quick questioning glance in my direction.

—You know Mandarin?

—That’s the only phrase I know, Callum said.

—Zhu Li taught me a few phrases when she lived with us.

—Why didn’t she leave with you?

—Your father hired her at his ranch a few months before my husband died.

—I have been trying to figure out why you turned down my father’s offer of marriage.

—Because most women would jump at the opportunity to be taken care of by a wealthy husband?

—Yes.

I smoked for a bit before answering.

—My husband was a wonderful man, but the success of our operation was down to me and Hattie and Jehu. Of course our neighbors believed he was the brains behind the outfit, and it was easier for me to go along with the ruse. Why encourage people to be suspicious of me, of the type of woman I was …?

—Intelligent?

—Men don’t particularly like intelligent women. Neither do women, for that matter. Or at least they don’t like it when you show it. It’s our great secret, you know? That we are smarter than you.

—I didn’t know that.

—Your father did. He knew I was in charge. If he would have come to me with a proposal of a partnership instead of a marriage, I would have agreed. I might have even eventually agreed to marry him. I liked your father very much. Admired him, even. I didn’t love him, and I never would have. But in the years since, I’ve imagined a scenario where we were partners in business, family, marriage. We might have been unstoppable. Your father didn’t want a partner, he wanted a wife. Funny thing was, I realized after my husband died that I’d never particularly liked that role. It is very restrictive. Duplicitous.

—Because you pretended you were less than you were?

—Yes.

—What about Spooner? Did he respect you for your mind?

I heard the sneer in his voice.

—Heavens no. That was purely physical.

—You are an astonishing woman.

—You say that as if it’s not a compliment.

—It isn’t. Do you know where Spooner is?

—I told you …

—Yes, I know. I thought he might have told you places he liked to hide, when he was telling you and your husband stories.

—Most of the time he would merely go into an adjoining state since the sheriffs didn’t have jurisdiction. He didn’t hide so much as blend in. They would use different names, get jobs on ranches, like ours, until the money ran out. Honestly, the outlaws were the best workers.

—Did you harbor more than Spooner’s gang?

—We didn’t ask questions.

Callum chuckled.

—No wonder my father wanted to marry you.

—Are you propositioning me again?

—No.

—I would be the best kind of wife to have. You’d be rid of me in record time.

He hummed a response and looked at me full on. The moonlight lit up the scarred side of his face and I saw it for the first time. His entire cheek and part of his lips were scarred from burns. The scars were a silvery white and stretched across his face, pulling the side of his mouth into a constant smirk. I didn’t look away, though.

—If I asked you into my bed, would you come?

—Is that why you asked me to travel with you?

—Yes. I want to have what my father couldn’t.

—I do like your honesty. I wondered if you would try to seduce me again.

—I’m not seducing you.

—Yes, I know. It seems very transactional on your part. A power play. Much like your father’s marriage proposal. If you’d taken a different approach, we might be in your bedroom by now.

—I don’t need your permission.

—I suppose not. You are stronger than I. But know this: I will kill you if you do.

We stared daggers at each other for what felt like an eternity. Finally he smiled and chuckled.

—I suppose I’ll try a softer touch next time.

He shifted away from me and sipped his whisky.

—Why did you come, Duchess? And do not lie to me and say it was to see my ranch. You could have ridden here and seen what you wanted without ever talking to the foreman, without them even knowing you were here.

—Curiosity. I wanted to see what had been done, if there was even a trace of my hard work left. Imagine my surprise when I saw my herd expanded and healthy.

—You didn’t need my permission for that.

—I was curious about you, also. Your reaction, first to my confession, then to my request. I wondered if you were a better man than your father.

He turned back to me.

—And what have you decided?

I looked up at him for a long moment, not shying away from his deformity, and lied.

—A much better man.

—Dorcas thinks you are the head of the gang that’s been stealing from me these last two years.

—I have to say I’m flattered.

—To be suspected of being an outlaw?

—From what everyone says, this gang is brilliant. But there is no proof they are women. Only rumors, which everyone dismisses as ridiculous.

—Yes, ridiculous. But you made a very convincing case that women are capable of being as immoral as men.

—Of course they are. That doesn’t mean I am.

—You did just threaten to kill me.

—Because you threatened to rape me. I believe I would be justified. Though I also know I would swing if I killed you. Of course, if you raped me, I would be blamed for that as well. I wouldn’t be killed, just shunted off to the county hospital with all of the other inconvenient women.

He gently touched my cheek, and for a brief moment I thought he might kiss me. I hoped my revulsion didn’t show in my expression.

—I don’t make the rules, Duchess.

—But you benefit from them nonetheless.

He leaned toward me.

—And I will do everything I can to protect and enforce them. He kissed me on the cheek and whispered,—Sleep well. We leave for Cheyenne after breakfast.

Before I could catch my breath, he was gone.

There is no doubt in my mind that he suspects I’m behind the heists. I cannot sleep tonight; I suspect he might make good on his threat. Regardless, there will be Pinkertons waiting for me somewhere along the line. Cheyenne, most like, since our biggest job against him was in Wyoming. No question about jurisdiction there.

Now, Grace, I must—