Hope In Cripple Creek

by Sara R. Turnquist

  Stepping into the one-room building, Katherine glanced around. Not quite the turnout she hoped for. Other than the mayor, Timothy, and herself, only one couple came. A few years older than her, they seemed harder, roughened perhaps by years of hard work in the sun. They bore all the markings of a farming couple.

  Timothy nodded to Katherine and stood to take his place on the dais. Had he been waiting on her?

  Katherine chose a seat as Timothy stepped up to the pulpit.

  “Thank you all for coming. We are here today concerning two children orphaned by the recent typhoid plague. Jack, age three, and Susie, who is not yet a year old. This meeting is to hear any interest from the town in adopting these precious children who are in need of a loving home.”

  Silence fell over the room for a few moments.

  It was awful. Was the town not more open, more loving than this?

  “Reverend,” the man from the couple spoke up, standing.

  “Yes, Mr. Jones?” Timothy addressed him as if he were one of several people volunteering.

  The man spoke with frankness, not nearly as tactful as Katherine might have liked. “My wife and I don’t have much use for the baby girl, but we think we might could take on the little boy.”

  Much use for the baby girl? How cold, how heartless, how . . .

  Timothy’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I thank you for your willingness to open your home. We shall arrange a time for you to meet Jack and see if, in fact, he suits your family.”

  Mr. Jones bobbed his head and then he and his wife stood and walked out, nodding to Katherine and the mayor in turn as they passed.

  The mayor, Timothy, and Katherine waited for a full half hour for anyone else that might come. And no matter how hard Katherine prayed, no one else did.

  “I suppose we have our answer,” the mayor said, clicking his pocket watch closed as the hour drew to an end. “At least we have a home for the boy. We just have to find a place for the girl or send her on to Denver.”

  Katherine’s jaw dropped. Was everyone around here so callous?

  Timothy nodded, avoiding Katherine’s eyes. That was probably best.

  “Let me know when you want to arrange a meeting for the Joneses and Jack. We’ll do what we can on our end,” the mayor said, standing.

  “Certainly. And thank you for fostering the children.”

  Katherine bit her lip to keep from saying something she’d regret.

  The mayor nodded. He then moved out of his pew, said a quick farewell to Katherine, and took his leave of them.

  Once the mayor closed the door behind himself and they were alone, Katherine rushed over to Timothy. She felt as if she would burst, she could barely contain her emotion.

  “Timothy, you cannot let the Joneses split those children up! They’ve already lost their parents, don’t make them lose each other, too.” Her words spilled out. He must see that she was right.

  “You saw what I saw, Katie. There are no other families willing to take either of them. It might, in fact, be easier to find a home for Susie if she’s alone. But, for now, at least there is a home for Jack.”

  Timothy’s response surprised her. How could he not see things the way she did? “A home that will treat him as nothing more than a farm hand.”

  “That’s not fair.” Timothy’s brow furrowed. Then his features softened and he reached out for Katherine’s hand. “He’ll be safe and cared for.”

  “But what about love?” She tried to pull free from his grasp.

  He kept a firm hold on her hand. What was he thinking?

  “Those children deserve to be loved!”

  “I don’t know if they can hope for that at this point,” Timothy said with a gentle voice.

  Timothy was just being the voice of reason. She should at least make an attempt to stem this idealistic streak within herself, but she couldn’t stop the words that came. “I can give them love.” Had she just said that?

  “You?” Timothy’s brows shot up and his hold on her loosened.

  “Yes, me.” Her voice firm, she continued, “I will take them.”

  “That’s rather noble of you, Katie. It truly is. But I cannot, in good conscience, give two orphans to a single woman. How would you care for them? How would you support them? How can you be both mother and father?” His tone was soft, but his voice was firm.

  Katherine looked to the ground. Deep down, she knew she asked the impossible. He had every right to treat her as if she were being ridiculous. She was. Yet, he spoke to her with such tenderness. Still, her heart ached for some way to help Jack and Susie.

  “Your care for these children is admirable,” Timothy said, his voice as gentle as ever. “But they are in God’s hands now.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his. “At least do this, Timothy. Don’t adopt Jack out to the Joneses yet.”

  Timothy became silent. He opened his mouth and closed it. His features softened and he raised a hand until his fingers grazed her cheek. “I can’t wait too long. But I will give you one week to find another option for me.” Then he withdrew his touch.

  “Thank you, Timothy.” A part of her wanted to draw closer to him, but she thought better of it and pulled away, preparing to take her leave.

  As she turned to gather her shawl, she felt Timothy’s gaze still intent upon her. Looking back over her shoulder, she offered him a smile and a quick wave before heading toward the back of the church.

  Only then did she notice Wyatt had slipped into the church and sat, staring, in the last pew. It gave her pause. How long had he been here? What could be his reason for being here at all? What possible consideration could he have for two orphaned children?

  To say things had been awkward between Wyatt and Katherine since she had been discharged from his care would be putting it mildly. She still harbored resentment toward him, but something had changed. Something in the way he looked at her was . . . different somehow. Still, as she found her footing, she held her head up and walked past him and out of the church without so much as another glance in his direction.

  * * *

  The day began like so many others. David Matthews awoke and breathed in the freshness of a new day. But it weighed on him. He went about his morning routine, preparing himself for the day ahead, despite the fact he was a bundle of nerves. As he kissed his wife good-bye, he allowed himself to linger in that moment for a couple of seconds longer, taking what comfort he could from her presence.

  Because today, instead of taking his place in line at the mine, David grabbed his picket sign and marched off after the other miners. Today was the big day. The day everything had come down to. They would stand up to the mine owners. Even now, as David marched behind his fellow miners, John Calderwood’s words from their last meeting rang in his ears.

  “We must stand together. We must stand firm. We will not tolerate this treatment. We will stand against it and say ‘not here, not now, not our mine.’”

  This new man on the scene, Calderwood, was the president of the Western Federation of Miners and a former miner himself. He had already sent notice to the mine owners of their demands: that they go back to the eight-hour workday for the full three-dollar wage. Apparently, the mine bosses had not responded well.

  The memories of that prior meeting plagued David. He remembered Calderwood’s message about their next course of action. In David’s opinion, the man sounded a bit preachy. It left David feeling more than a little unsure if this was the right thing to do.

  But the decision had been made. He joined this union for a purpose, and his place was with the rest of the miners, his “brethren” as Calderwood called them. David would stand with them, not against them. Looking at the others around him, he knew he was no strikebreaker; no one would be calling him a scab.

  As he and the small group arrived at the entrance to the mine, they saw others gathering as well. He continued replaying Calderwood’s pitch, “We must stand together. We must stand firm.” When he spotted some of his work
buddies, he raised a hand in greeting. They congregated together not far from the larger group crowding the mine entrance. His gaze rested on each of his “brethren.” Could he find something reassuring in their features, their posture, their commitment? It strangely seemed to be lacking. Perhaps they were thinking the same thing, each looking at him in the same way.

  And then Calderwood arrived. He seemed more upbeat than any of them, making rounds, shaking hands, and patting miners on the shoulder. For a brief moment, David wondered whether this man was a union leader or a politician. Was there a difference?

  As Calderwood approached David, he reached out his hand. When he took David’s hand, it was warm and solid. Confident. “Glad to see you here, David. How are the kids and the wife?”

  Surprised the man remembered that much, David’s reply came out slow and stumbled, “They’re all right. The wife is a bit nervous.”

  “Hang in there.” Calderwood winked at him. “We’ll get through this together.”

  In that moment, he knew he was on the right side. He felt a strong sense of commitment and realized that if it weren’t for this man, no one would be here. Calderwood continued on his path of welcoming everyone, though David realized it was more than that. The man encouraged the miners in their decision to follow him. And they were going to need it.

  He remembered the man’s words from the earlier meeting, “We won’t let them intimidate us. It won’t be easy, but we will prevail!” And he distinctly remembered the cheering after. Strange, but as he searched the crowd this morning, nobody was cheering. The excitement of the other night didn’t seem to be here today. But it did not escape David’s notice that everyone’s mood lifted with Calderwood’s presence. If there was one person that could rally them to victory, it was he.

  And with that, David proceeded into position to form their strike line.

  * * *

  Life in Cripple Creek returned to some semblance of normal. While the trouble at the mine kept the town in an uneasy state, people still went about their days much as they did before the plague. School had resumed, but there were empty seats. And that devastated Katherine. It served as a daily reminder to the students that their town had been touched by something tragic. Katherine rearranged seating, hoping to lessen the sting of the absent students.

  Still, as Katherine sat at her desk grading papers after her students were dismissed, the words on the papers blurred. She could not move on. How could she expect any of her students to? It seemed as if her chest could not expand it was so tight. And it ached. Not only did she mourn the loss of the missing students, she had not come up with any solution for Charlotte’s two young children. And she only had a week! How she wished she could take them on herself. But she understood Timothy’s wisdom in not letting her have them. Even though she was certain she could provide a better life for them than the Joneses.

  Rubbing her eyes to clear them, she glared at the handwriting in front of her. It was no use. The lines were still blurred. So she gave up and rested her head in her hands.

  Moments later, she heard the door open and close. She straightened herself and worked to stack the papers, looking toward the intrusion.

  “Dr. Sullivan,” she clipped as politely as she could, making every attempt to disguise her surprise. “Is there something I can do for you?” Katherine tried to hide the emotion that was, without a doubt, displayed on her face. She rose and started to erase the chalkboard, turning her back to him. What did he want? There were far more important things on her mind than to suffer his imposition.

  “I came to speak with you about something of importance,” Wyatt said, his voice hesitant.

  “Oh?” She half-turned to face him. Biting at her lip to contain her earlier emotions.

  But there was none of the smugness in him today she always associated with Wyatt. Come to think of it, since the plague hit, she had not seen it. No, there seemed to have been a change in him.

  “It’s something that I think involves both of us.” He looked at her, his eyes glistening with emotion, wide and sincere.

  Was this it? Were they going to have it out about Ellie? Not quite the time and place for it, but she would prepare herself to face off with her greatest enemy now if need be. So, she put down the eraser and turned her whole body to face him, trying to exude confidence she didn’t feel.

  “Go ahead.” She crossed her arms in front of her body. A shield.

  “It’s about the orphans.” He licked his lips as if he struggled to find the right words.

  Never would she have expected anything of the kind to come out of his mouth. Even though Charlotte had asked him to look after her children, he had not made any move to do so. What could he want to say about them now? Her arms slackened and fell to her sides. She supposed her expression begged for him to continue because he did so as he walked toward her.

  “I don’t want to see those children separated or mistreated any more than you do. Their mother did ask me on her deathbed, after all, to look after their well-being.” Wyatt’s voice broke with emotion.

  Katherine looked down. The memories of so many sick and dying townspeople came back to her. It all played in her mind’s eye, the most striking memory that of Charlotte’s death. That scene replayed over and over until Wyatt’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  “The thing is,” he said, shifting, no longer meeting her eyes. “I heard you talking with Timothy and . . . ”

  Wyatt seemed quite tense. More so than she had ever seen him. She didn’t even know it was possible for him to be nervous.

  “And I thought . . . if you were married, you would be able to take on those children.”

  Katherine remained quiet, in part because she didn’t know what to say or where he was going, but mostly because she enjoyed watching him squirm.

  “And I bet you’d be good for those children,” he met her eyes at last.

  Surprised at his compliment, she didn’t notice for a few moments that a silence had fallen between them.

  “I would like to try. I would. But there is the problem that I am not married,” she said, her voice quiet.

  “What if you married me?” Wyatt held her eyes.

  “What if . . . what?” Her mouth fell agape. Did she hear him correctly?

  He took a breath and let it out. “What if we got married?”

  That was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. Marry him? Her worst enemy? The man who had left her best friend behind? No, no, no, no, no! She looked up, prepared to throw him out of her schoolhouse.

  “Just think about it,” he said, backing up toward the door. Then he was gone.

  And she was alone with her thoughts.

  * * *

  It had been a beautiful day despite everything in it. The birds sang as if it were a day like any other. And the house chores needed tending to all the same. All in all, everything threatened to lock Mary into believing it truly was no different. But it was. Mary’s mind remained busy throughout this otherwise normal day, reminding her what set this day apart. Today was the big day. The day of the strike.

  Once Jessie returned home from school, Mary set her down with her homework at the kitchen table while Peter napped. Then she continued to do what she had been doing all day—wondering about her husband and how he fared. He had never been involved in a strike. And he was nervous. She was nervous for him.

  Much of their time together the previous evening had been spent in silence. But as they were getting ready for bed, David requested something she had never known him to ask—for her to pray for him and for the strike. She obliged and was surprised when he prayed, too.

  That morning, she had risen with him. There were so many chores she needed to attend to, so much to manage, especially with a family. But today had been different. David wanted to pray together again and, once he rode off, she’d been left to suffer the worry and fears that threatened to overtake her. She had wished one of the kids would wake early, so she would have someone to spend the time with. />
  But not today. This day, the kids slept, nestled comfortably in their beds long after David left, leaving Mary to face this struggle by herself. She did the only thing she knew how to—she prayed even more. As she prayed, she tried to turn her husband over to God. But it wasn’t easy. Her mind kept playing out scenarios where David was hurt, or fired, or other terrible thoughts.

  When David had first started working in the mines, she used to worry about him being injured or trapped, but as the months went by, she had worried less and less. Not that those thoughts didn’t visit her each day, but they no longer plagued her every waking moment.

  Today was different. She’d heard rumors from other wives that strikes could get out of control. When she asked David about it the night before, he reassured her the stories were hogwash, and suggested perhaps she needed to stop listening to so much gossip. But she couldn’t help but hear those words, rumors though they may be, play back in her mind. When the kids did wake, she was grateful for the company. And she shifted her focus to dressing them and preparing for breakfast.

  Now, as Mary watched Jessie doing her homework in silence, those haunting thoughts returned. Glancing out the window, she wondered how long they would stay at the mine. Would David be home late tonight? Would all be well? Or would something have happened during the day? Would he be hurt perhaps and have no way to contact her? She stilled her anxious mind. That was not likely. If he were injured, they would take him to Dr. Sullivan. And the good doctor would make sure she was notified.

  “Ma,” Jessie called to her from the table.

  “Mmm?” she answered from her post by the window.

  “I need some help subtracting these numbers,” Jessie said, her frustration coming through in her tone.

  “I’m coming,” Mary said, tearing herself away from the window, thankful yet again for the distraction.