mama's place. The very idea of Papa kissing that Jezebel was enough to make Silver's gut roil. She wasn't immune to the pitying glances and murmurs of ridicule she had to ignore every day in the street. How in heaven's name could Papa be?
Trying to ignore her sweaty palms, Silver watched the charcoal burner stroll past her and finally enter the privy. She loosed a ragged breath. Hallelujah. The coast was clear.
Struggling to hoist her now back-breaking load, she made a break for it, hobbling at tortoise speed toward the pack mules.
Well, one thing was in her favor, she thought, huffing as she strapped the basket to a burro. Aside from the charcoal burner, the mining compound was practically deserted. The sun wasn't yet low enough in the sky for the few remaining stalwarts who manned the stamp mill to begin the evening candle parade down the mountain to their homes.
In fact, the machinery still boomed in the building behind the mule corral, making the earth tremble. She hardly noticed, though. She was used to industrial activity. When her teeth buzzed in the vicinity of her sawmill, or the china in her kitchen cabinets rattled from the dynamite blasts at her mine nearly five miles away, she figured it was a small price to pay for turning Aspen into a bona fide town. In 1878, before she'd raised the money to process silver ore locally, Aspen had been little better than a clapboard village, shipping its ore over the mountains to Leadville.
Of course, since Brady Buckholtz couldn't abide the words "woman" and "proprietor" in the same sentence, the Aspen Times had hailed Papa as the hero who'd brought the first smelter to the city. Silver had been irritated, but she'd let Papa take the credit. She'd been the first female to manage a prosperous and legitimate business in this town, and she'd had to cope with many a belligerent male.
In the face of such anger, she'd learned to pick her battles. And thanks to Aaron Townsend, she'd learned the hard way.
Shaking herself free of such hair-raising memories, Silver hurried the burro to her horse. So far so good, she thought in true criminal fashion, squinting at the sky as she mounted her mare. The sun hadn't sunk below the treetops yet, and that meant she had plenty of time to dump the rocks and ride home before dark.
Unfortunately, she couldn't take the usual route. Papa would follow her and rediscover his wretched stones. Heaven forbid she should have to go through all this slinking and skulkingagain.
She brightened as an idea dawned. The Roaring Fork. The river was so thick with sawdust that Papa would never find his rocks. She could dump the whole basket in the current and rest assured she'd never see the wretched thing again.
Murmuring "gee" to the mule, she spurred her mare past the pine stumps that littered the once forested compound. The dead wood jutting up from the earth made the yard look junky. What was worse, big pink weeds, like pussy paws and dogbane, had seeded themselves between stumps. She wrinkled her nose at the hearty wildflowers. She'd heard the Utes actually had a use for such eyesores, but she couldn't imagine what that might be. One of these days, she thought idly as she reached the end of the pine graveyard, she'd have to order this land cleared. Dogbane was poisonous to pack mules, and surfaced roots made treacherous footing.
A sudden, sticky chill accompanied this thought. She shuddered, her goose bumps unexpectedly visceral. Considering the fact that spring was in full flower in the Roaring Fork Valley, she couldn't help but mark the odd sensation especially after her mule, for no apparent reason, loosed an ear-splitting bray and reared. She fought to hold on to its tether, muttering oaths between her croons of comfort. Usually, burros were docile creatures unless they smelled a coyote.
"Come on, Jenny," she soothed. "It's all right. See? Liberty's not worried."
That wasn't entirely true, since her mare's eyes were now rolling. But Silver was less
Trying to ignore her sweaty palms, Silver watched the charcoal burner stroll past her and finally enter the privy. She loosed a ragged breath. Hallelujah. The coast was clear.
Struggling to hoist her now back-breaking load, she made a break for it, hobbling at tortoise speed toward the pack mules.
Well, one thing was in her favor, she thought, huffing as she strapped the basket to a burro. Aside from the charcoal burner, the mining compound was practically deserted. The sun wasn't yet low enough in the sky for the few remaining stalwarts who manned the stamp mill to begin the evening candle parade down the mountain to their homes.
In fact, the machinery still boomed in the building behind the mule corral, making the earth tremble. She hardly noticed, though. She was used to industrial activity. When her teeth buzzed in the vicinity of her sawmill, or the china in her kitchen cabinets rattled from the dynamite blasts at her mine nearly five miles away, she figured it was a small price to pay for turning Aspen into a bona fide town. In 1878, before she'd raised the money to process silver ore locally, Aspen had been little better than a clapboard village, shipping its ore over the mountains to Leadville.
Of course, since Brady Buckholtz couldn't abide the words "woman" and "proprietor" in the same sentence, the Aspen Times had hailed Papa as the hero who'd brought the first smelter to the city. Silver had been irritated, but she'd let Papa take the credit. She'd been the first female to manage a prosperous and legitimate business in this town, and she'd had to cope with many a belligerent male.
In the face of such anger, she'd learned to pick her battles. And thanks to Aaron Townsend, she'd learned the hard way.
Shaking herself free of such hair-raising memories, Silver hurried the burro to her horse. So far so good, she thought in true criminal fashion, squinting at the sky as she mounted her mare. The sun hadn't sunk below the treetops yet, and that meant she had plenty of time to dump the rocks and ride home before dark.
Unfortunately, she couldn't take the usual route. Papa would follow her and rediscover his wretched stones. Heaven forbid she should have to go through all this slinking and skulkingagain.
She brightened as an idea dawned. The Roaring Fork. The river was so thick with sawdust that Papa would never find his rocks. She could dump the whole basket in the current and rest assured she'd never see the wretched thing again.
Murmuring "gee" to the mule, she spurred her mare past the pine stumps that littered the once forested compound. The dead wood jutting up from the earth made the yard look junky. What was worse, big pink weeds, like pussy paws and dogbane, had seeded themselves between stumps. She wrinkled her nose at the hearty wildflowers. She'd heard the Utes actually had a use for such eyesores, but she couldn't imagine what that might be. One of these days, she thought idly as she reached the end of the pine graveyard, she'd have to order this land cleared. Dogbane was poisonous to pack mules, and surfaced roots made treacherous footing.
A sudden, sticky chill accompanied this thought. She shuddered, her goose bumps unexpectedly visceral. Considering the fact that spring was in full flower in the Roaring Fork Valley, she couldn't help but mark the odd sensation especially after her mule, for no apparent reason, loosed an ear-splitting bray and reared. She fought to hold on to its tether, muttering oaths between her croons of comfort. Usually, burros were docile creatures unless they smelled a coyote.
"Come on, Jenny," she soothed. "It's all right. See? Liberty's not worried."
That wasn't entirely true, since her mare's eyes were now rolling. But Silver was less
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