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Chapter Three
Garrett took her advice and brought out his journal and made short notes on what he’d experienced so far. Not everything would be incorporated into his story on Dr. Lee, but he was certain his readers might find further stories interesting, like the plight of the Indians. Being a Colored man, he was sympathetic to their plight. Their beliefs and way of life, trampled by the nation’s movement west, had been no more valued than those held by the people of Africa forced into slavery. Unfortunately, his only knowledge about them came via the garish and often sensationalized stories put out by the press, both Colored and White, portraying them as soulless, murdering demons. He’d not seen anything in the newspapers on the Colorado militia murdering and mutilating Cheyennewomen and children. Spring mentioned the massacre had taken place during the war. Even though the nation’s eyes had been focused on the conflict, it was no excuse for the incident not to have been more widely reported. Her description of the events left him feeling both ignorant and ashamed. He wondered how many people in the East were aware of what had transpired. Had they been appalled by the murders? Spring couldn’t have been very old at the time, but apparently, the story remained a bitter memory.
He had his own share of bitter memories. At the age of eight, he and his family were put on the block to pay down their master’s debts. Garrett and his father, Hiram, were purchased by a carpenter in Richmond, while his mother, Fannie, was sold to a wealthy female plantation owner. And for the first time in his life, he learned what being a slave truly meant. Seeing his mother’s anguished tears as she was driven away, and knowing he might not ever see her again, had been one of the most horrific, heartbreaking days of his life. As his father explained later that evening, “The masters own us. To them we’re no more than pigs or mules. If they want to sell us, they can, and we have no recourse.”
By his twelfth winter, his mother had been sold twice more, each time farther away. How his father kept track of her whereabouts Garrett never knew, but when Richmond fell and the war ended, his father knew exactly where to find her and her infant daughter. A few weeks later, when Garrett left the navy and returned to Virginia, they became a family again and he was delighted to have gained a little sister, but for many of the enslaved there were no such reunions. Even now, twenty years later, the nation’s Colored newspapers continued to publish pleas from those searching for sold-away kin.
According to Spring’s account, her grandfather had been free. Garrett assumed her father had been, too, but what about her mother? Spring hadn’t shared much of anything about her parents. Were they still living? He didn’t know why learning all he could about his hostess seemed so important. Due to his short stay in Paradise, most of his questions would remain unanswered and more than likely they’d never meet again. Why that fact left him unsettled, he didn’t know, either, but it did. What made her smile? What put the light of joy in her eyes? Had any man ever loved her for all that she was? Although having only known her two days, Garrett didn’t see her masking her truenature to secure a man’s affection as society often forced women to do. Reminding himself again about the briefness of his stay and the unanswered questions he’d leave behind, he sighed wistfully, and returned to his journal.
When she entered the house a short while later, he had his list of questions written out for the doctor. More would surface during their talk, but for the moment he was content.
“You have your questions ready?” she asked after removing her coat and boots.
“Yes. Is that coat a real buffalo hide?”
“Yes, and much warmer than wool.”
“May I try it on?”
“Sure. It’s very heavy though.”
He slipped his arms into the sleeves and the weight buckled his knees. It was like having an anvil on his shoulders.
“As I said—heavy.”
He scanned the shaggy garment. Although its size and length didn’t dwarf him as it did her, he couldn’t imagine having to wear it for an extended period. “Do you wear this all winter?”
She shook her head. “Just when the weather is like it’s been for the past few days.”
He shrugged out of it and, glad to be free of the weight, handed it back. “Thanks for indulging my curiosity.”
“I’m stuck with you and your curiosity,” she quipped. “So I haven’t much choice.”
Although the words were pointed, her eyes held a hint of playfulness that added to his growing interest in her. “Is there a place in town where I can rent a room?”
“Yes. Regan owns a boardinghouse run by the town seamstress, Dovie Denby. Paradise doesn’t get a lot of visitors, so the place is never full.”
“Good to know.” He expected her to leave him after that, but she sat instead and that pleased him. “Have you ever lived anywhere else?”
“No. I’ve been here my whole life. Farthest I’ve been from Paradise is Laramie and Cheyenne.”
“Never been back East?”
She shook her head.
“Are you curious about what it might be like?”
“Not really. When Colt returned after his medical studies at Howard, he said it was full of people, streetcars, and the noise of both.”
Garrett thought about that. “I suppose he’s right, and it can be overwhelming.”
“I’ve no need for overwhelming. I like the quiet and the peace of waking up every day to the sun rising over the mountains.”
He’d yet to witness that but remembering the beauty of the sunrise over the water during his stint in the navy, he understood. There’d been breathtaking sunsets, as well.
“Besides,” she continued, “from what my brother said, none of the women wear denims or gun belts, and aren’t allowed in the saloons.”
Although parts of him were afraid to ask her to explain that last part, his curiosity refused to be denied. “Why would you want to go into a saloon?”
