Annalece Hunter: Animas Forks
Chapter One: Animas Forks
At midnight, a decade ends. And here, at my Colorado lake house, we’re in the thick of winter. The days are dark and short. And my goal is staying warm, beside the fire, my fingers curled around a mug of something steamy.
Yet, outside the winter beckons. “Come,” it calls. “Let me show you all the beauty. The creek covered with transparent ice, beneath clear water moving through. The forest, hidden in a soft blanket of white, the brown trunks of ancient trees, fissured with age, still visible.”
All reminds me that soon enough spring flowers will blossom. And so I start thinking of summer, in particular, a past visit to Animas Forks, a ghost town, give or take, ten miles northeast of Silverton (the setting for October’s story “White Radiance.”)
Chapter Two: Treasure Mountain
During my visit to Animas Forks, the evening light had inched down Treasure Mountain and stretched across the grey, weathered wood of the abandoned buildings. Most tourists already on their way back to town, so all had been quiet. Only the occasional trill from a nearby marmot. And a breeze, whirling playfully through grass and wildflowers…with the ever so slight murmuring of laughter.
Chapter Three: Altogether
Prospectors founded Animas Forks in the 1870s. At its height, it boasted saloons, stores, assay offices, boarding houses, a mill, and several hundred residents, most leaving for Silverton during the winter months and returning in spring. (Truly, what is shocking is that some stayed!?)
In 1920 the town was deserted altogether and today it’s a tourist attraction, part of the Alpine Loop, an unpaved sixty-mile, four-wheel drive backcountry road with unparalleled scenery: waterfalls, mountain vistas, bighorn sheep.
Chapter Four: Hide and Seek
The breeze had danced from one clump of wildflowers to the next, every movement laced with gaiety. It advanced upon the tie-dyed petals of blanket flower, shades of red, orange, and yellow, before moving to the shrubby, small pink blooms of mountain heather. It was as if playing a game of hide and seek. And then, suddenly, it leapt upon the porch of a two-story house and tumbled through a vacant bay window.
Chapter Five: Lavender
The spirited breeze rollicked through the house before exiting and scampering up a trail on the mountain. As I followed the movement of the swishing grasses, I had caught sight of a woman. She wore a lavender gown, made of soft, satiny fabric, long and loose. And she was holding a parasol, made of black lace. She had glanced around, as if securing she was alone, and then she untied the silk scarf hugging her neck, removing her wide-brimmed straw hat.
Chapter Six: Woman with a Parasol
The woman in the lavender dress twirled then. Around and around. Her chin lifted, her eyes closed, her arms outstretched, the wind spraying her hair loose, the sunset highlighting auburn locks of which tumbled over her shoulders.
She was smiling. A warm, steady smile, enlivening her entire face. And I thought, she rather appeared as a Monet painting. You know the one, “Woman with a Parasol.” The one capturing the essence of a windy summer’s day. Of Camille. Monet’s wife. Her transparent veil and billowy dress. I had blinked, and the woman with the parasol had vanished.
Chapter Seven: Petals of Columbines
It was her again. The woman in lavender. Remaining on the trail, yet, this time far up the mountain. And I wondered, “How had she traveled so quickly?” She was twirling again, her dress mirroring the hue of the columbine’s soft violet petals tickling about her ankles. But there was something about her twirl. So contented. So free.
Chapter Eight: Light and Summer Wind
In the dying light the shadows began to lengthen before the sun made an exit behind the mountain. A puff of wind swept through the woman’s hair before slipping into a nearby clump of aspens and rustling its leaves. As it did, the twirling woman dissolved. And I was left looking, left searching.
“Made of light and summer breeze,” a voice had come from beside me, thin with age. “The elegant lady of Animas Forks. A playful little siren if ever there was one. Always appears this time of day. Just as the tourists began clearing out.”
Chapter Nine: A Trifle
A trifling of a woman, in a frilly white dress with layers of lace looking as if she wore a tiered wedding cake, had threaded a skin and bones arm through mine, and steered our walk towards the parking lot. She referred to herself as The Grande Dame of Animas Forks, a volunteer, who spent her days keeping an eye on the tourists, ensuring no further abuse was inflicted upon the crumbling structures.
Chapter Ten: Elemental
“Many believe she’s an elemental. A nature spirit. Born of the earth herself,” said the Grande Dame, pausing and turning to face Treasure Mountain. “The Denver Tribune published a story about her in 1878, right when the forests of Treasure were being demolished. You see, elementals often appear when a forest is being cleared. But I don’t buy it. She’s no elemental.”
“No?” I had asked. And as I did, a breeze passed, carousing my ponytail, flipping it inside and out, and out and inside once more. As it departed I thought I heard the slight murmur of laughter again.
“No,” this was the Grande Dame again. “No.”
And then she whispered a name.
Etta.
Chapter Eleven: 1896 Etta
Etta gripped the handle of her parasol, its Chantilly black lace shading her from the unrelenting midday glare, which otherwise would have burnt her pale skin within mere minutes, upsetting Madame Alice, who was adamant: her girls were to stay out of the sun. And Etta, her fair complexion and red hair, was particularly prone to sunburn.
Chapter Twelve: 1896 All Her Own
Etta ached to twirl, right here on the public street. But she refrained, clutched her parasol tighter. The past twenty-four hours had been good to her. Last night, when she heard the tinkle of the bell and Madam Alice’s familiar words, “company ladies” the man in the viewing room (the one with the tiny eyes and jowly cheeks) had presented her with a brass check. And she knew what that meant: he had shelled out two hundred dollars, twenty of which were all her own.
A couple passed, the woman taking one look at Etta and curling her upper lip. Etta placed a gloved hand over her mouth, suppressing a laugh, and thought of her hanging pocket, safely secured beneath the bed in her room at Madam Alice’s. It was filling swiftly. It wouldn’t be long now.
Chapter Thirteen: 1896 The Brown Palace
Etta turned the corner, and upon eyeing the Brown Palace Hotel, hastened her pace. One day a week she was given. To do as she pleased. Henry lived at the Brown Palace, worked there too, a blackjack dealer at the casino.
Etta entered the lobby and immediately cast her eyes down, focusing on the glossy wooden floor, taking caution. Many of her clients were often in the hotel’s restaurant, enjoying dinner with their wives. And she couldn’t be recognized. Madam Alice demanded.
Chapter Fourteen: 1896 Floor, Please
Etta passed a mahogany table in the lobby’s center, a dusting of yellow pollen littering its sheen, and swiftly entered the elevator.
“Floor, please?” asked the operator, his jacket trimmed neatly with twin rows of golden buttons.
“Seven,” Etta replied, catching her breath, feeling her heart starting to pound.
Chapter Fifteen: 1896 The Peony House
The operator tugged the lever, and the elevator lurched upwards. Etta caught sight of her reflection in the elevator’s brass panel, turned to the left, then the right, and tucked a loosened strand of hair behind her ear.
At first she had been angry with Henry, for obscuring his plan. But her animosity subsided after Madam Alice offered employment in her bordello, The Peony House. And…that her salary included a monthly allowance for clothing had helped, too. In no time her wardrobe was brimming: satin corsets tailored for her street gowns, garters adorned with dainty ribbons.
Chapter Sixteen: 1896 Unveiled
The elevator dinged, the operator announced “seven” and Etta swished her way down the hall, to Henry’s door. Her fingers wrapped around the cast brass knob, and she twisted. But as the door groaned open, an empty space was unveiled. Henry, and all his possessions, were gone.
Chapter Seventeen: 1896 Rootless
Her cheek pressing against the cold glass window, Etta watched the conductor as he paced back and forth on the platform, his crimson face glistening with rain. A whistle pierced the air, and she began rocking in place, even before the train had made its lunge forward.
Her mouth was dry, her throat was sore, and her chest was tight. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was heading. She glanced at her gloved fingers, at the ticket she was holding. Silverton. That’s where. Since it was far away from the Brown Palace. The Peony House.
Chapter Eighteen: 1896 Mrs. Henry Evans
The train lurched forward and Etta closed her eyes, hearing the knock on the door, seven years prior, back in Iowa.
“Hello ma’am,” Henry had said, his green eyes wide, as she had opened the door. “I’m in town visiting my uncle, and the fellar down at the store said I’d find a decent poker game here.”
Letting him in, she had motioned to the table in the kitchen, her father and his friends already gathered around.
Five days later she found herself in the county courthouse, in a dress of white silk the reverend’s wife had loaned her, filling out the wedding register. And she became Mrs. Henry Evans.
Chapter Nineteen: 1896 Mrs. Etta Barnes
“Pardon me, Mrs. Barnes.”
Etta opened her eyes, realizing the train had stopped. It was the ruddy face of the conductor, pulling her from her sad memories, taking her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.
“Mrs. Barnes. Your stop. Silverton.”
She reached for her handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes before making her way to the platform. She was Etta Evans no longer, having no desire keeping the name Henry had given her. Now, she was Mrs. Etta Barnes. And she was better off by herself.
Chapter Twenty: 1896 Fortune on the Rails
Etta watched the train stamp away, a ghostly light pushing onwards, until she was left staring at…nothing. Henry suggested Denver after their act had been discovered. For five years they had made their fortune on the rails, traveling to every large city and horse town in the country, disguising his skill at poker and employing her beauty to lure the men in, fabricating a brother and sister act. But when their exploit had been discovered, they had to invent a new way. So they boarded a train bound for Denver.
Chapter Twenty-One: 1896 A New Enterprise
Henry had devised a plan. As he always did. He told Etta about his friend, Madam Alice, and her Peony House, Denver’s top boarding house (named so since legend suggests the peony flower grants its recipient the power to keep a secret). At first she had resisted. Felt hurt. But then he had wrapped his arms around her, holding her in that way that always made her feel safe, and promising it would only be until they had saved enough.
Chapter Twenty-Two: 1896 Small and Cozy
After they had saved enough, they would leave. Henry had promised. They would find that place they had talked of. In a forest somewhere. Beside water. He would build something small and cozy. Nothing large or fancy. Like something from a storybook. Life would be simple and quiet. He had promised.
Chapter Twenty-Three: 1896 Actually, Yes
“Mrs. Barnes,” this was the voice of the red-faced conductor, again relieving Etta from her unpleasant memories, but his tone, softer. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Etta glanced down at her fingers, curled around her filled hanging pocket. She raised her chin and met the conductor’s eye, which had narrowed, his brows pulling together.
I’m not going to be as alone as he meant for me to be, she thought.
“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “Actually. Yes. There is.”
Chapter Twenty-Four: 2019 By the Falls
“Her name was Etta. Etta Evans,” the Grande Dame corrected herself. “Umm…Etta Barnes. And she’s no elemental. Some folks believe she’s the one who had the cabin over by the falls built. She had the money to purchase the land. Have something built.”
The Dame had winked at me and smiled as she said this last phrase, bits of white powder of which thickly covered her entire face, settling into the creases around her eyes, the lines around her mouth.
“I’m sure you saw it on your way up.”
I had shaken my head no. Yes, I had noticed the falls, but somehow, I had missed the cabin.
Chapter Twenty-Five: 2019 To Herself
“They called her, The Elegant Lady,” this was the Grande Dame again, unthreading and releasing her arm from mine as I had climbed into my vehicle. “She kept herself looking nice. Always dressing in such lovely gowns, even way up here. I’m certain many a lonely miner courter her. But I think she kept her distance and was plenty happy doing so, getting on just fine all by herself.”
Back down to Silverton I had traveled, looking to the place the Dame had instructed me to do so. And between the trees, I had spotted a cabin, small and cozy, situated so perfectly beside a waterfall.
The End.
But wait. What about the Grand Dame? How had she known so much about Etta? I’ll let you know. I’m bringing her back for my story in April 2020.
