Chapter Fifteen
Ian isn’t like Justin. Bethany reminded herself of this over and over in the next few days, as she kept replaying their conversation about Argentina.
He wasn’t pretending he wanted to stay with her forever only to yank that dream away at the last minute.
Ian was being upfront with her. This was his life.
He wasn’t a family man. He didn’t come from that kind of background.
She knew what she was getting into. If she wanted to be with him now, these were the terms she had to accept.
Did that make her a strong woman or a fool for willingly walking toward pain instead of protecting herself and running away?
Maybe a little of both. She wanted to be strong and she wanted to guard her heart against hurt, but she didn’t know how to pull away from Ian when being with him felt so good.
Not just making love to him, but talking to him.
Laughing with him. Enjoying the way he looked at her, as if he truly liked everything about her, just as she was.
He thought she was smart. Capable. Brave.
He laughed at her terrible jokes and kissed her as if he never wanted to stop.
Who would ever want to pull away from that?
All she knew to do was keep moving forward, enjoying the good feelings for as long as they lasted.
While Ian focused on overseeing the last of the construction in Humboldt Canyon, Bethany paid another visit to the Rayford County Historical Society. “I’m looking for an obituary and some photos,” she told Caleb.
“You’ll have to search the newspaper archives for the obituary,” he said. “Do you know when the person died?”
“I do.”
“That will make it easier. Let me show you our photography index.” He led the way to a computer in a back corner.
“You can search our photo collection by the name of a person or place,” he explained.
“We have thousands of photographs, most donated by area families, as well as some of the old newspaper archives. Your search will pull up a call number and a brief description. Give me that information, and I’ll pull the photos for you. ”
“This is going to be easier than I thought,” she said.
She typed in her search terms and came up with a list of possible photos.
She gave these to Caleb, then turned her attention to issues of the Eagle Mountain Examiner from 1985.
She found the obituary for Katherine Boston, accompanied by a grainy black-and-white photo of an older woman with short hair and a stern expression.
Katherine Berringer Boston was born in 1950 in San Antonio, Texas, the beloved daughter of Jacob Berringer, a successful merchant, and his wife, Nina Leon Berringer.
The family moved to Eagle Mountain, Colorado, when Katherine was ten, and she quickly became known as a local beauty.
Many a man competed for her attention until she met the love of her life, Gerald Frankline Boston, of Denver, Colorado.
After her marriage to Gerald, Katherine became involved in all the social organizations in town, including Eastern Star, the Women’s Club and the Arts Guild.
Tragedy struck the couple when Katherine was injured in an automobile accident, which left her unable to walk without difficulty for the rest of her life. She never fully regained her health and finally went to her reward. Internment at Eagle’s Rest Memorial Park, Eagle Mountain.
Bethany reread the words. No mention of Katherine and Gerald’s divorce. Anyone reading this would think they’d had a happy marriage. There was no list of survivors, either. No mysterious lover who might have committed murder on her behalf.
“Here are your photographs.” Caleb returned with a shallow tray full of envelopes, each envelope containing one or more photographs.
As she had hoped, her search for Humboldt Canyon had produced a trio of shots of climbers from the 1960s, complete with bell-bottom jeans, striped rugby shirts and long hair.
“Their equipment looks pretty primitive compared to what we use today,” Caleb said as he laid out the photos on the table in front of her.
“No helmets,” she said. “And is that one guy barefoot?”
He peered more closely at the photo in question. “I think he is. They’re obviously having a blast.”
She also found some undated scenic shots taken in winter, showing icicles on the cliffs and snow deep on the rocks. “Can I get copies of all of these?” she asked.
“Sure. It takes a few days to a week to get them produced.”
“No hurry,” she said. “I’ll probably want some of these others, too.”
“I’ll go get the price sheet while you finish looking.”
Her searches for Abby Boston and Katherine Boston or Katherine Berringer yielded nothing. She had better luck with Gerald Boston. At the last minute, she did a search for Walter Spies. One of the photos associated with Walt was the same as a photo she had requested of Gerald.
The first photo of Gerald showed a young man with side-parted brown hair long enough to touch his shoulders and a thick moustache. He was pictured with a group of men labeled as employees of Atlas Mining. She didn’t recognize any of the others standing with him.
The next photograph showed a group of three men and three women dressed in jeans and T-shirts, standing with several saddled horses against a backdrop of rock. Someone had written a list of names in the margins of the photo in blue ink: Walt S., Gerald B., Craig B., Abby S., Kate B., Susan M.
Bethany leaned over the photo, trying to bring the small image into better focus.
Walt S.—that had to be Walter Spies. He had been a handsome young man—square jawed, sandy haired and blue eyed.
He held the reins of a big black horse, the woman identified as Susan M.
on the other side of the horse. Next to her stood Gerald with a brown-and-white horse, Kate B.
beside him. Katherine Berringer? Or was she already Katherine Boston?
Next to her was Abby S. The future Abby Boston?
Then a roan horse and Craig Boston—floppy blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
The girls all had long hair with feathered-back sides and wore lots of eyeliner.
Here was proof Walt Spies had known Craig and Abby. But hadn’t Craig said Abby and Gerald had met after his divorce? Had she misunderstood? If Kate B. and Katherine Boston were the same person, then Gerald had known Abby while he’d still been married.
“Here. This might help.” Caleb handed her a magnifying glass. “It can help with some of these older, blurry shots.”
Bethany thanked him and examined the photo again but found nothing of interest. None of the women’s hands were positioned where she could see a wedding or engagement ring, and all of them were looking at the camera, not at each other.
The other photographs of Walt were from newspaper ads for his campaign for county commissioner and a couple since he had taken office. Bethany requested a copy of the group photo and left the building mulling over the afternoon’s revelations.
She was crossing the street, headed back toward her apartment, when someone called her name. She turned to see Craig Boston moving toward her.
Bethany waited for him to catch up. “Hi, Craig. You look like you’re getting around pretty good.”
He leaned on his cane and frowned down at the walking boot. “I’m doing okay. The physical therapist says I’m ahead of schedule, but I’ve always been pretty stubborn. What have you been up to?”
“I just came from the historical society. I found the greatest photo of you and Gerald and some others. You were riding horses. I wish I had it here to show to you. The museum is making a copy for me. Do you remember that day? Walt Spies was with you, too.”
He scratched his cheek. “Can’t say as I do. When was this?”
“Sometime in the midseventies, I’d guess. There was a woman identified as Kate—could that be Katherine?”
“I think sometimes people did call her Kate. Who else was in the picture?”
“Someone named Susan and a woman identified as Abby S.—could that be Gerald’s Abby?”
“I doubt it. If he was with Katherine, Abby wasn’t in the picture yet.” His face brightened. “I think that must be Abby Smith. I went out with her a few times. Never anything serious.”
“Who was Susan M?” she asked.
Craig shook his head. “I don’t remember. Maybe Walt’s girlfriend at the time? He had a lot of them.”
“He was a ladies man?” She could see that. Even in that photo she had recognized a certain rugged sensuality.
“I guess so. Not me. I never had good luck with women. But hey, I’d love to see that photo when you get a copy.”
“I’d be glad to show it to you.”
“Did you find anything else interesting at the historical society?”
“Ian is looking for photos of people enjoying the canyon—early hikers and climbers and miners—to display at the via ferrata. I found a few things like that.”
“So you’re helping him with this via ferrata project? How’s that going?”
“It’s going well. He’s going to be ready to open soon.”
“Provided he gets approval from the county.”
“I think he’s winning people over. Now that they can see the course they’re getting excited about it. It’s going to be a good thing for the community.”
“Well, good luck with that,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”
She watched him hobble away. His earlier comment—about not being good with women—saddened her. That photo had showed a smiling young man who had a bright future before him. Now he was old and alone. Had he made the choice not to marry, or had someone broken his heart?
Bethany turned and started walking again.
Craig’s personal life was none of her business, but the romantic in her couldn’t help but wonder about his story.
That was what had led her to dig into Gerald and Abby’s lives.
She wanted to know what had brought them to their tragic end, as if figuring that out could inform how she lived her own life.
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