The Gold Miner's Wife: A Young Woman's Story of Romance, Passion and Murder Read Free Page B

well-appointed parlor waiting for the dinner bell and the room revealed clues that these were people with class.  A piano was prominently displayed near a window.  It rested atop an ornate rug which featured a floral pattern.  Blue damask wing chairs were arranged near the fireplace along with a matching settee.  The parlor held marble topped tables, bronze statues of Greek ladies, potted plants, fringed cushions, the family Bible and a French forest clock with a bird that twittered on a branch every hour.  The room had been tastefully wallpapered; it was comfortable and not cluttered.
                  Thomas felt a bit awkward to be the focus of everyone’s attention.  He was well groomed and looked handsome and gentlemanly, wearing light brown trousers and blazer, a black silk tie and dark brown vest.  His boots were polished.  He handed his Stetson to the maid when he arrived, and left his gun at home.  Thomas desired to further his acquaintance with Miss Carlyle and make a favorable impression.  But with four pairs of curious eyes looking expectantly at him, Thomas was a bit on edge.  Oh well, he thought philosophically, some days you are the hammer and other days you are the nail.   Professor Purfield’s academic interest in mining led to a conversation that soon put him at ease.  This was a familiar topic he could discuss with confidence.  He gratefully accepted a glass of brandy.   Mrs. Purfield was an excellent hostess, pleasant and solicitous, and did her best to keep the exchange lively.
                  The gentlemen went on about the best methods for extracting gold from sulfide ores for several more minutes when Mrs. Purfield intervened and tactfully moved the conversation in another direction.
                  “Do you have any family nearby, Mr. Sprague?” she asked.
                  “My mother and two younger sisters live in Ohio,” he answered.  “My father was a casualty of the war.”
                  “Oh, I am sorry,” Mrs. Purfield said with feeling.
                  “Oh my, how awful,” echoed Susannah, now aware that they both shared a painful loss.
                  “Yes, it was awful, but it is all in the past.  They are doing well.  Please tell me about your interest in painting, Miss Carlyle,” he requested.
                  “You must call me Susannah,” she said brightly.  Miss Parker’s face clouded in alarm at such an unprecedented invitation to informality.  “I am interested in sketching and painting landscapes and wildflowers from nature.  Having heard so much about this beautiful area, I came here seeking inspiration.”
                  “And have you been inspired?” he asked, as he held her gaze.  She looked lovely in the soft glow of the lamplight.  This evening she wore a white gown with eyelet lace and a scooped neckline that did nothing to conceal her womanly curves.  She sat near him and he perceived the delicate fragrance of rosewater.
                  “Oh yes!  Very much.  Beyond my imagination,” she said and when she blushed, he wondered if anything else might have been the source of such inspiration.
                  “I would like to see some of your work if you would let me,” he said with undisguised admiration.  “And perhaps if you and your friends are amenable, we could visit an alpine meadow I know of that might interest you.  And please, you must call me Thomas.”  Miss Parker raised a brow.
                  “Tell me,” asked Mrs. Purfield, “what is it like at the mine?  It is dangerous, hard work, I know, but what else can you tell us?”
                  “It is a type of life that is not for everyone.  You can be out of touch for weeks at a time.  We try to make the most of the warmer weather.  Heavy snowpack will shut down the operation entirely.  My home is