October 27, 1915

I did not sleep well last night. The knowledge of JJ having us watched ups the stakes. I rose from bed before the dawn’s early light and started a fire in my cook stove. I watched the coffee pot until and well after it boiled, thinking of my, really our, current situation. I sat on my back porch and watched the sun pour its light on Emerald Mountain. Slowly it flowed through bare aspens, oak brush, and evergreen trees. The fog on the river cleared, melting in the light. I was in a state of meditation thinking that perhaps the best plan was to do nothing. Or look for a second job and help Corina get rid of JJ.

I had absent mindedly fed two fires: one with affectionate deeds and the other with wood. The water in the stove’s tank was too hot. I mixed it with cold river water in my basin, washed my face, combed my hair, and then shaved. Charlie never left my side. His brown eyes questioned through curly black hair and showed apprehension as only a dog can. I swept the porch, and then decided since I am staying the winter, I should chop more wood, order coal and be ready again to brave the cold. I will need more books.

I walked to work slowly and then delayed more watching the sight of brown trout spawning in gravelly redds. The females wiggled their bodies and a male swam next to each. They coupled in a genetically driven, synchronized dance perhaps as old as the last Ice Age. I sighed and continued to the Cabin Hotel.

Once inside, I heard female voices in the kitchen. A perambulator parked near the door kept little Julius sleeping and I smiled thinking what bliss ignorance can be. The voices were then audible.

“Did you hear about Mrs. Angelino Iacovetto? Maggie asked.

“No, what?” Angela questioned.

“I have. Remember I work for the coroner,” Corina said. “The Pilot misspelled her name four times.”

“What happened?” Angela impatiently asked again.

“Dominic Gabriel kept visiting her while her husband, Sam was on his shift at the coal chute. Gabriel wanted her to make love and run away with him. She refused him again and again. He boarded at their house. He must have pressed the issue and threatened her on Thursday evening. She went and got a revolver from the bedroom and shot him six times.”

“No.”

“Yes. Then she got another revolver and shot him six more times.”

“Really?”

“Those Italians immigrants have it tough in this county and a temper,” Corina stated.

“The Irish too,” Maggie snapped.

“All women deal with unwanted advances. She must have been really angry,” Corina said. “I met her once on the train to Denver and she is a nice woman. Tragically, her two children saw the deadly deed.

“Oh, my heavens.”

“She searched out an officer and told him what happened,” Maggie continued.

“Coroner, William Bashor and Sherriff Chivington went to Phippsburg on Friday,” Corina added. “They confirmed he was quite dead and most of the bullets did their task. Mr. Bashor formed a jury and heard testimony. The jury found her justified in the act and let her go home.”

“Unbelievable, did you do the make up on him for burial?” Angela asked.

“No, they buried him in Oak Creek. I did prepare Commissioner Frank Palmer over the weekend. That was sad. His wagon, full of potatoes, ran over his chest on a steep hill with both front and back wheels. It was hard to make him look good.”

“What a job you have,” I said while walking in and grabbing an apron.

“Julius!” she exclaimed. “You should apply for the commissioner opening.”

I started laughing. “That’s a way to keep me in town! Clean hands and I bet it doesn’t pay well. The Republicans gave it to James Whetstone.”

She turned to Maggie and asked, “Do you mind if I chat with Julius for a moment?”

Maggie’s eyes twinkled. “Of course not, please do.”

In the dining room she solicited, “He’s having us followed? What shall we do?”

Again, I laughed, “Nothing. Let’s do nothing. Adultery is a crime in this state.” She looked at me like I was insane. I added, “One cannot be convicted for doing nothing.”

Amused, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, “Dear, we have to do something and keep the pressure on my husband. We can’t let him get away with spying on us.” With a devious look she pondered, “Everything is going to be alright, if we behave ourselves privately, and we turn up the tension with say… the occasional public display of affection.”

The woman was undaunted. I smiled and nodded my head in agreement.