| |
November 1908
OVER THE NEXT TWO WEEKS they brought the lodge into working order. Billy and Mr. Wheatley moved into the room behind the kitchen. Joy, Breona, and Marit settled into their finished and newly furnished apartment in the attic. Breona and Marit delighted in their new fittings. Marit’s room, in addition to a bed and armoire, also held a cradle and a tiny dresser filled with newborn clothing. When Joy had given Marit the box containing the baby things Anna had selected, Marit and Breona had spent a delighted hour exclaiming over each item.
Thanksgiving was only a week away and the weather was cold. Joy was grateful that they had not yet received much snow, but it was inevitable.
That morning Billy had escorted Breona and Marit to the grocers. Mr. Wheatley and Joy had taken a loaf of fresh bread to Flinty. Mr. Wheatley, with Joy’s urging, had given into Flinty’s plea for “just one game” of checkers. Mr. Wheatley walked Joy home and hustled back to Flinty’s. Joy found herself alone in the lodge for the first time.
With a critical eye, she examined the great room. It was now furnished as parlor on one side and dining area on the other. How would wealthy guests view it? She rearranged some knickknacks and decided a few wall hangings were needed. She was making another list when she heard boots on the front porch.
The two men who strode in did not knock. They were large and rough, and Joy was alone.
The smaller of the men stood by the door as if waiting instructions. Joy recognized the other: Darrow. He strolled around the room, touching the furnishings, picking up objects with his ham-sized hands and setting them down carelessly. He concluded his examination in front of her. Something in the set of his mouth made Joy go still.
She was in trouble. Why had she broken her own rule and allowed herself to be cornered here alone? Then she thought of Mr. Wheatley confronting this mountain of a man and knew it would have ended badly for her friend.
“Thought you were so smart in Denver, didn’t you, lady?” Darrow’s hair was still greasy. He still stank, and Joy shrank back from the stench.
“We know you brought those two women here. You know they belong to us. Let’s just say the present situation ain’t permanent.”
Joy straightened her spine. “Those girls will never ‘belong’ to anyone, you-you—” Joy’s vocabulary failed her, but her courage did not. “In whatever manner you threaten us, you will not have them. Now get out of my lodge!”
Darrow jutted his chin at the other man who responded by kicking over an end table. It splintered and the items on it shattered on the floor.
“What’s going on here, Darrow?” A lanky figure wearing a Stetson and a badge loomed in the doorway.
Darrow’s eyes narrowed. “Sheriff. Surprised to see you here.”
“I am more surprised to see you here. Looking for lodgings?” The man’s face was weathered and lined yet he was not an old man—and he seemed to wear his authority easily.
He took his hat off and nodded at Joy. “Sheriff Duane Wyndom, ma’am. Sorry I have not been over sooner to introduce myself.”
Joy nodded back, quaking with relief. “Pleased to meet you, Sheriff Wyndom. I am Joy Thoresen.”
“These men bothering you, ma’am? What happened to this table?”
Before Joy could answer, Darrow guffawed. “I swear, ol’ Harold here was born in a barn. Not used to walkin’ around fancy stuff—just kicked that little table right over, Sheriff. Purely accidental-like, right, Harold?”
“You watch your tongue around the lady, Darrow,” Wyndom’s tone did not leave room for disagreement.
“Why, I beg your pardon, miss. And, of course, we’ll pay for the damages.”
Darrow drew a wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a sheaf of notes. He handed them toward Joy, but she refused to touch the extended bills. Darrow shrugged and let them flutter to the floor.
“We will just be on our way, Sheriff.” Darrow jerked a nod at Harold.
“I do not want to see you here again, Darrow. For any reason.”
Darrow looked aggrieved and managed to smirk at the same time. “Why do you have to take that tone, Sheriff? After all . . . we’re basically on the same team, right?”
The sheriff’s expression tightened, but he did not take the bait. “You do not come here again, Darrow—you or any of your crew. Got that? Not for any reason.”
Darrow shrugged his massive shoulders. “Well, all right. No need to get testy. I’ll be sure to give the boss your message.”
“You do that.” Wyndom’s molars were clenched so tightly Joy thought they would crack.
As Darrow and the other man stomped away, Joy sank onto a sofa. Wyndom picked up the money and counted it. “This enough for the breakage, miss?”
Joy just shook her head dismissively. “I do not care. I do not want it.”
Sheriff Wyndom laid the money on a chair anyway. “Money does not grow on trees, miss. You got a broom around here?”
“I, um, thank you, but there’s no need. I will clear it up . . . soon as I catch my breath.”
He nodded. “My office is over on Main Street, kitty-corner from the town square. If Darrow or any of that crew comes around again, I want to know right away.”
“I am so grateful, Sheriff Wyndom. How . . . how did you happen to be here at just the right time?”
“Did not ‘happen.’ I keep my eyes on that one. I have recruited a few of the boys in town to be my eyes and ears, too. One of them let me know he heard Darrow talking about coming over here, that you were by yourself.” He looked at Joy a little quizzically. “Not sure what you’re about doing here in Corinth, miss. But I am sure that the wrong people are paying attention.”
Joy flushed. “I, ah, well it is a lodge, as you can see. We will be in business soon and will have paying customers coming to Corinth for the fresh air and the views . . .”
Wyndom still looked skeptical. “I know what goes on in this town, Miss Thoresen. To my shame, I know it. And there’s not a lot I can do about it. Seems to me you have stepped into something you might regret.”
Joy did not have an answer. Wyndom slapped his hat on his knee and put it back on his head. “You have a couple of men working for you. The young one is fit enough, but the other is too old to be much protection. If you would like some additional muscle, I can recommend one or two respectable young men looking for work.”
Joy nodded. “I would like that.”
The sheriff touched his hat to her. “I will have them come by one at a time so you can speak to them. I think you know not to be alone . . . like this . . . again?”
“Yes. I do thank you.”
—
JOY ENCOUNTERED GRIM expressions around the table that evening as she related what happened. Mr. Wheatley, red with shame, was beside himself. “It is my fault, Mrs. Michaels. No way should I have left you here while I went to play checkers.”
Joy put her hand on his and, with as much kindness as she could muster, said, “Mr. Wheatley, what would you have done if you had been here? Two against one . . .” She let the implications go unspoken without bringing up his age—but he was not fooled.
“I might be just an old man, but I can handle a gun!” he protested.
Joy grew stern. “No, Mr. Wheatley. I will not have you doing that. You are not here as a bodyguard, like Billy is. You are here to help us manage this lodge. We need you and cannot do without you. No, I will take the sheriff’s suggestion and hire another man for security. And we will strictly follow our own rules—not one of us will venture from the lodge alone. Am I understood?”
She addressed everyone at the table. “I know old habits are hard to break, but also please remember that I am known as Joy Thoresen here, rather than Michaels.” Billy and Mr. Wheatley, who were the ones who frequently forgot, both nodded. “I will start interviewing for another ‘handyman’ as soon as possible.”
—
JOY TOOK TO THE FIRST young man sent by the sheriff. Flinty introduced them. Domingo Juarez was small and wiry and quick as a cat. Moreover, his dark brown eyes were respectful and kind. He spoke in a soft and confiding way to her during the interview.
“I think I know what you do here, señora.” He gestured around him to include the lodge. “Some of us hope you will help more girls. Many Corinth peoples know that man and what he does, but the Corinth—what they call? city clerk and some hombres de nogocios—the businesspeoples—are in that man’s pocket.”
“They’s in his pocket, all right,” Flinty agreed with vigor.
Joy could not stop herself. “Er, what man?”
Domingo’s eyes flashed. “It was Judge Brown, señora. That is how it started. He was malvado—evil man, and his wealthy cómplices in Denver were just as evil as him. But we did not know that then, did we?”
Flinty, chewing on a toothpick and deep in reflection, added, “Thet’s right, Miss Thoresen. First Judge Brown, he opens a savin’s ’n’ loan in Corinth. An’ folks all a-thinkin’ it were a great cornvenience, being able t’ bank their money right here ’stead-a in Denver. They ’preciated thet he was investin’ in our little town.”
Young Domingo frowned. “Then other bad things start to happen, ver’ secretamente.”
“Yup. Real quiet-like. No one s’pected what was goin’ on at first,” Flinty said. “Judge Brown bought them two nice houses—and made ’em even bigger! And fancy? Nothing else like ’em way up here in these mountains. Can y’ figger what one man would be wantin’ with two big houses? No sir! But then we started seein’ them city swells comin’ up on the train t’ visit those houses. He nodded his head sagely.
“Then things jest kinder exploded—Brown hired a crew o’ rough men and put ’em in a boardin’ house ’long Main Street, not far from th’ sidin’. Suddenly, if someone was t’ ask too many questions, those thugs’d deliver a thrashin’ yer wouldn’t want t’ repeat.”
Domingo nodded in agreement. “Si. It is very bad now.”
Joy frowned. “You said it was Judge Brown?”
Flinty answered her. “Last August, a new feller shows up, new friend o’ Brown’s from Denver. A real gentleman, thet ’un—the best clothes ’n’ manners. Folks say butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Only Brown don’t know ’til too late thet he done brought a snake into his house.
“Within a few weeks Brown jest up ’n’ disappears. This new guy, Brown’s ‘friend,’ name o’ Dean Morgan, steps right in, slick as oil, and starts a-runnin’ ever’thing. He lives down th’ mountain but he uses them thugs t’ keep Corinth on a tight leash.”
“What happened to Brown?” Joy’s eyes were huge.
“No one knows, señora,” Domingo replied.
Flinty added, “Yep. He jest disappeared. Someone tried t’ spread th’ story thet his mother took ill back east, ’cept old Missus Childers knew Brown’s mother ’way back. Says she died years ago. We’re all pretty certain Morgan had som’pin t’ do with Brown disappearing, and we mighta cheered fer him, ’cept he’s ten times worse’n Brown.”
“How? How is he worse?”
Domingo grimaced. “This Morgan? He is hombre rico, very big money. Now many Corinth peoples, they—how you say?” Domingo turned to Flinty.
“Thet Morgan cornvinced a bunch o’ folks here t’ invest th’ money they had in th’ savings ’n’ loan with him, is what. Like Domingo here said, th’ city clerk and some o’ th’ business folk are in cahoots with ’im, so not only did they invest their money, but th’ town o’ Corinth did, too. Oh, he’s a smooth ’un all right.”
“Couple o’ brave folks decided t’ withdraw their money. Thet’s when we found out how bad things was. He let those folks know, kinder subtle-like, ya know, thet it weren’t a good time t’ pull their savings.
“He said th’ S&L was heavily invested and it were an uneasy time in th’ market. Said if they pulled their money, it might cause a run on th’ bank an’ everybody—’specially th’ town—might be negertively ’ffected, sez him.”
Flinty aimed a shrewd look at Joy. “S’ far, people say they’re happy with their ’vestment returns—but the money is all on paper, so how d’ they know if it is real? Fact is, they’re ’fraid t’ find out th’ truth. No, we all got th’ message. He’s holdin’ th’ people and th’ town o’ Corinth hostage with their own money. No one is brave enough t’ pull their money and no one dares t’ cross him.”
~~**~~
