Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested.
Elizabeth I
1875. Colorado
The Wellston Hotel was a grand place, and as Benjamin stepped inside a chandelier overhead caught the light and sent reflections of color onto the walls and registry desk. The desk itself was a semicircular expanse of mahogany bearing a handsome black walnut key rack. Nearby was a contraption such as he’d never laid eyes on. He watched in rapt fascination as the desk clerk pushed a button, sounding a bell.
In seconds, a tall, well-dressed man, the color of creamed coffee, bounded down the stairs. Ben stared up, disbelieving his eyes. He clutched his hat in his hand, mouth dry.
“Tandy?” His gaze soaked in the lost playmate, seeing with adult eyes what a nine-year-old would never have considered. Tandy was as white as he was black, and his eyes were hazel brown, not the rich coffee of his mother’s. Ben had no doubt, if he’d ever had, that they were, indeed, half brothers.
Tandy paused, long fingers gripping the polished banister as if he, too, were in shock at what he saw. “Ben? Is it really you? They told me you were in Denver, looking for me, but I couldn’t believe—”
Ben moved forward, jubilation building in his chest. “I thought I’d never find you.”
Tandy took the remaining steps two at a time, and the pair met at the bottom, grinning like the boys they’d been.
Ben offered a hand which was immediately clasped as they stood staring, each taking the other’s measure. Ben was sure, in his travel-worn duds, that he fell short of the handsome dandy before him.
Finally, Tandy spoke. “What brings you to Denver? Gold or silver?”
“Neither. You.”
Tandy cocked his head in puzzlement. “Me? You’ve come this far for me?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“I never expected—we were boys. I a slave and you the master.”
They were more than that—much more—but now was not the time.
“I came to right my father’s wrong.” Ben reached into his pocket and withdrew the blue marble. “I got something that belongs to you.”
Tandy chuckled, reached into his vest and withdrew the matching ball. “You didn’t forget.”
“Neither did you.”
Light brown fingers rotated the small orb. “This marble means more to me than a game we played.”
A lump in his throat, Ben understood. The marble represented family and home, friendship and promises, and the decency of a Yankee captain who only saw two little boys in need, not one black and one white, but one without a father and one with a father who knew nothing of love.
“You have news of my mother?” Tandy pressed on, as eager for news from home as Ben was to tell it.
“She’s well.” Ben grinned. “Married now.”
When Ben told of Abram, the hardworking mill employee who’d married Lizzy, Tandy’s face tightened. “Is he good to her?”
“Treats her like a queen.”
Full lips curved. “Rightly so or she’ll whack him with a skillet.”
They both laughed, basking in the shared memories and bridging the years in between.
“You should see her now, Tandy. You must. She’s happy and still strong, running the house alongside Mama.”
Tandy’s face softened. “How does your mother fare? And Miss Patience?”
“Both are well. Mama married Captain Gadsden after Papa died.”
Tandy nodded. He’d known, as Ben had, that the captain was a far better man than Edgar Portland and that his heart belonged to Charlotte. “And Miss Patience?”
“Still kind and beautiful, and she teaches piano to the Honey Ridge children.”
Tandy’s eyes grew cautious. “She never married?”
“No. She never did. And none of us can understand why. There’s a man who loves her, and I believe she cares for him, but Johnny won’t speak because of his blindness.”
“Johnny? The Union soldier? He remained at Peach Orchard?”
“You remember him, then?”
“Of course I do, as I remember how we’d walk around with our eyes closed, pretending to be blind, too. We wanted to be like the soldiers.”
Ben shook his head. “Foolishness, though we meant no harm. We hopped around on one leg with stick crutches, and Logan only laughed and wrapped a bandage on our arms to complete the wounded soldier look.”
“Good men, both of them.”
“I can’t argue that. Without them, we would have lost Portland Farm and Mill after Papa died.”
Tandy looked to the side, suddenly pensive, and Ben wondered. Reminiscing about the past and recalling those forced away from him must be hard to hear.
The desk contraption jangled again, and Ben turned to stare at it. “What is that thing?”
“A communication device called an annunciator,” Tandy said proudly. “Each button connects to a guest room, the kitchen and dining rooms, the offices.”
“Fancier than Josie standing on the back porch hollering her lungs out.”
Tandy’s chuckle displayed white teeth above his striped black-and-red waistcoat, his melancholy gone. “Mr. Wellston, rest his soul, wouldn’t settle for anything but the best. He came here to build a fine hotel and he did.”
“You still work here, even though he’s passed on?”
“Work. Eat. Sleep.” When Ben looked puzzled, Tandy clapped him on the back. “Come into the office. I can see we have much to talk about.”
Feeling as if his feet barely touched the ground, Ben followed Tandy down a rug-covered hallway into a small office.
A young black woman entered the room with a coffee tray. “Would you care for anything else, Mr. Wellston?”
“This is all for now, Edna. We’ll take lunch soon in the dining room.”
“Mrs. Wellston left earlier when you were meeting with the mayor. She asked that I give you this note.”
Ben watched with interest, aware that Tandy had changed in more ways than his address. His speech was educated and articulate, his well-made suit a far cry from the homespun britches and shirts of Peach Orchard Farm. And the waitress called him Mr. Wellston.
After pouring each of them a cup, the woman left the tray and exited the room.
Ben lifted the delicate cup, so different from the tin one he’d sipped at daybreak. “Mrs. Wellston?”
Tandy’s smile widened until he was all teeth. “Molly. We married last year.”
“Congratulations.”
“You’re still a single man?”
He thought of Emma Tremble and smiled. “For now.” He leaned forward, eager to learn how Tandy had gone from a sold slave child to a position in an affluent hotel. “Tell me about your life. Did Wellston treat you well? I prayed for you. Mama, Patience and I.”
“Patience, too?” Tandy mused softly, getting that vague distant look again before he blinked and answered Ben’s query. “Wellston treated me quite well. From the beginning, when he saw I was industrious and eager to learn, he educated me, taught me how to run a hotel. He worked me hard, but the efforts were worth the result. After Mrs. Wellston passed and he became ill, he turned more and more of the hotel affairs over to me. After emancipation, he allowed me to buy into the business.”
“You’re part owner?”
“No. Not part. Not anymore.” Tandy set the cup on the tray. “Robert had no living children. When he passed, he left his share to me.”
“You’re the Wellston of Wellston Hotel?” Amazed and delighted, Ben gazed around the well-furnished office and then up at the ceiling medallions. The hotel was elegant and beautiful, clearly a successful establishment.
“Hard to believe, but, yes. The West is wide open, and a man of color can do well here.” He lifted a resigned shoulder. “Within limits.”
The truth pinched inside Ben. Robert Wellston was a good man who’d done right by Tandy, treating him as a son and heir, though he’d purchased him as a slave. Edgar Portland had sold his own child away from everything and everyone he loved. Was it better if Tandy never knew that Edgar’s blood ran in his veins?
To cover his consternation, Ben finished off the strong coffee and poured himself another from the pot. He’d have to ponder and pray and keep his mouth shut in the meantime.
Tandy held up a finger. “I’m hungry. Are you?”
“Getting there fast.” Emil had shared his rabbit stew, but Ben had been careful to take the lesser share.
“Excuse me a moment.” Tandy turned aside to push a button next to his desk.
In seconds, a young liveried boy appeared at the door. “Yes, sir, Mr. Wellston?”
“Tell Trixie to prepare two of her thickest buffalo steaks. My friend and I are hungry.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the door closed again, Tandy said, “You know my tale. Now let’s hear yours. Nine years is a long time to wonder about you and Mama and the family.”
So, while anticipating the unfamiliar taste of buffalo, Ben talked of the farm and mill and the depression, of Josie and her family, and the emancipated slaves who had stayed and those who were gone.
When he ran dry of Honey Ridge updates, Ben got to the point of his journey. “Come home, Tandy. We’ve missed you. Papa’s gone. Slavery’s gone. You’re free to come and go as you please now.”
“Free? In the South?” He shook his head. “The law may have changed, but I dare say hearts are not all that different, and there are some things a man can’t risk.”
Ben frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I run a profitable business. Denver is as accepting as any place of my kind. I would be a fool to leave here.”
“Then a visit. Come back with me. Your mama mourns to see your face again.”
Tandy’s expression, so friendly before, closed up tighter than a widow’s drapes.
“No, Ben. No.” The answer was short and hard.
“But why?”
Tandy’s expression went cold and wary. “I can’t return to Honey Ridge. Some things a man can’t risk.”
“You’ve said that before. What do you mean?”
“I mean to stay here, Ben. Forever.”
While Benjamin struggled to understand the sudden change in his friend, Tandy rose and moved around the desk to the door leading out into the hall.
With a tight smile and a flourish of one arm, he said, “I suspect our steak is near ready. And cherry pie, too. Shall we eat?”