Colorado Gold

by Marian Wells

  She shrugged, staring down at the tiny shacks below her. Night made them come to life. She watched a shabby miner enter the first shack.

  Amy pointed, saying, “It’s a wonder these little places hold so many.” Daniel looked at the cabins and nodded.

  “I’ll have to admit”—she paused, wondering how he would respond—”I’ve been tempted to put my eye to the crack in the door to see where all those fellows sit.” Daniel threw back his head and laughed.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, “I just didn’t expect that of you.” His eyes sparkled and he grinned. She grinned back, feeling nearly as if she had a friend.

  Now they were walking singlefile, making room for the miners on the street. Already she could hear the rattle of dice and the crack of cards coming from the saloon shacks.

  “It’s not like home. There the suppertime smells hang in the air until any young’un would be glad to run home. Around here the only thing you can smell is that awful whiskey.”

  With a start, Amy glanced at the sky. Aunt Maude would be fussing if she delayed another minute.

  Aunt Maude. At the rattle of pebbles behind Amy, she winced, wondering how her Aunt would react to the fellow carrying the water? Against the half-light of sunset, the figure striding behind her loomed straw-thin and tree-high.

  Aunt Maude had warned her against speaking to miners. Amy hurried her bare feet smartly down the trail, trying to forget the sharp rocks.

  “Wait up, little one.”

  Amy quickened her steps, and gasped, “Oh!” The rock was sharp and she blinked back tears while she stood on one foot.

  He set down the pail. She heard the pleasant rumble in his voice as he asked. “Tyke, want me to look at it?” He started to bend close and then straightened. He sounded embarrassed as he said, “I keep forgetting you’re not just a little one. I guess it’s that tow hair all curled like a baby.”

  Amy straightened her slight body and looked up at him. For a moment she found herself wishing her fifteen-year-old body came nearer resembling those women who stepped daintily down the streets of Denver City. The brown eyes of the youth met hers. For a moment longer, they looked at each other. He smiled down at her. Somehow she knew he was really seeing her now.

  Amy tried to deepen her voice as she said, “Thank you, but I can manage now. It was nice meeting you.”

  Slowly he said, “Well, I haven’t been to services yet. Pa and I are keeping busy now. On weekends we’re doing a little digging. But I hope I get to see you again.”

  She nodded. “Digging? Do you think there’s lots of gold in the hills—just waiting to be found?”

  “Oh, sure.” His voice was careless. “But it will take a lot of work.”

  Amy hesitated on the dusty road, moving her toe around in circles. “Dirty place, isn’t it?” He nodded. She was reluctant to leave. Almost against her will, she found herself echoing the words going around. “They say a fellow with any lick of gumption can be a millionaire.”

  There was a curious light in his eyes. “Is that what you want?”

  She grinned, “It would be fun to find gold.” When he didn’t reply, she added, “Three weeks we’ve been here, and there’s changes. Take this road. Ruts it was, and now—” She poked at the wild grasses and woody weeds. The light soil became airborne on the slightest breeze.

  With a sigh she reached for the pail and he asked, “Where do you live?”

  Amy pointed to the log cabin at the end of the street. “There. It’s home and church building. But no grander than the rest.”

  “That means dirt floor and sheet metal stove.”

  She nodded, “Aunt Maude took one look at it all and said, “’Tis well I lived this long. Now I know what it means to suffer for the gospel.”

  The serious young giant bent down to Amy’s level. “And what was the answer to that?”

  “Father gave her his stern look, saying, ‘Well then, dear sister, all the others are suffering for the gospel too, even the ones lining up at the bar every night, since they all have dirt floors.’”

  The fellow chuckled and started away. “Miss Randolph, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Might be I’ll see you in church.”

  She watched him go down the street. In the dimming light she thought his hair looked like maple leaves, frost-buffed into shining brown. “But it’s on a cornstalk body, and that ruins it all,” she muttered. “No Prince Charming.”

  She reached her own front door just as it began its creaking, groaning, thump. Abruptly it was wrenched into place and pried open.

  Aunt Maude’s sharp eye and sharper nose appeared around the door. “‘Twill be a mercy when we get a decent door to fill this hole. Who was that?” Her eyes transferred their glare to Amy.

  “A miner.” Amy couldn’t help gloating over the look of horror on her aunt’s face as she reached for the pail and pulled Amy through the door.

  “Do I have to start all over again, telling you all the reasons a young lady is to stay away from that element?”

  “I don’t think he had evil intentions, Aunty. He had a grip on the water bucket before he figured me to be past infancy.”

  Maude snorted as she carried the pail to the bench beside the stove. “Father.” Amy’s voice lifted as she eased her way around the rough table centered in the middle of the cabin.

  As he slowly raised his head, Amy noticed how heavily his hair was sprinkled with gray. Even the lines on his face seemed deeper. She chewed her lip. Why hadn’t she noticed that he was getting old? What if something should happen to him? She trembled and glanced at Aunt Maude.

  Slowly Eli straightened and lowered the black Bible, keeping his finger in the book to mark his place as he looked at her. His lips moved soundlessly while his gaze focused far beyond the room.

  Amy said, “On my way to the creek for water I saw the stage coming in from Auraria and Denver City. My, you should have seen the fancy ladies on board, laughing like youngsters at a picnic.”

  “Daughter, be careful of the names you give out. A group of young ladies on an outing needn’t be labeled. Take a lesson from our Lord and be generous with charity.”

  Aunt Maude turned from the stove and shook her wooden spoon at her brother. “Now, Eli, you’re acting like a father, not a preacher. If she’s labeled them, she’s at least on guard, and there’s more grace to be had clinging to the middle of the road than slipping off the edge.”

  “’Specially in the mountains.” They didn’t hear her, and Amy turned away from the pair. She was still thinking of the calm brown eyes of Daniel Gerrett as she studied the crowded cabin.

  Curtains made of cheap canvas hid the line of bunks built into the side of the cabin. Most of the Randolph household goods lay still packed in the trunks and barrels lining the wall behind the little sheet metal stove.

  With a wistful sigh she turned back to her father. “Is there a chance we’ll be getting a regular church building soon? Back home in the little white church, we were somebody. Here we hold services out of doors or crammed in among the packing barrels when it rains. And if anyone comes to hear the preaching, it’s a miner with a dirty neck. It almost seems they’re all dodging us like you’re giving out poison.”

  “It’s different here.” Eli’s voice had dropped to its sad, reflective rumble. Amy was beginning to regret the words. Sadness always seemed to lurk just beneath the surface. He straightened in his chair and unexpectedly grinned at her. “Sometimes the best thing that can happen to a person is just moving out of the rut he’s been in and learning to look at life differently.”

  Wonderingly Amy stepped close to her father and studied his face by the glow of fire in the little stove. She was ready to approve his words when Aunt Maude snapped, “This soup’s about done.”

  Her father smiled and shrugged. “Remember, Amy, it’s the bishop who decides where a man will best serve God and then sends him out. Perhaps it’s even more than a human decision.” She saw the dreamy, fleeting hope in his eyes before the
sadness came again. “No matter. These mining camps need the Gospel. And get it they will. God will open their hearts. Now let’s have evening prayers before that soup is ruined.”

  Amy stifled a sigh and dragged the crude benches into position in front of the fire.

  Chapter 4

  Aunt Maude watched as Amy and Eli worked the straw into place. Amy could feel the tension building. She pushed back on her heels. Father had the straw spread smooth, and the burlap feed bags were being stretched and nailed in place.

  Aunt Maude spoke. “Only a bit better than a raw dirt floor. Biggest trial will be to keep them miners from spitting their tobacco on the burlap.” Amy settled down and looked toward her father. She heard his stifled sigh as their eyes met in a fleeting glance.

  Amy caught her breath. Her father’s glance admitted that the gentle, quiet man also chafed under the caustic tongue of Aunt Maude.

  Wistfully Amy watched her father. How long it’s been! Seems I nearly lost the belonging feeling. She studied her father’s face, looking for a deeper emotion, wondering. Has Aunt Maude always been like this? Those tight lips, the bitter lines on her face.

  Slowly she said, “Aunt Maude, you don’t like being here, do you? I’m big enough now, I can cook and care for Father. Why don’t you go back to Kansas? You know how Uncle Jeffrey begged you to stay with him last spring, just before we left.”

  Amy’s heart sank as she watched the lines on her aunt’s face fill with a stream of tears. “Oh, Aunt Maude,” she whispered. Scrambling to her feet, she placed a timid hand on the woman’s arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; it’s just that you’ve been so unhappy, and I wanted to make you feel better. You’ve been with us since before Mother died and that’s almost forever.”

  The silence in the room was as heavy as lead. Amy stopped and looked from her weeping aunt to her father. He was still crawling about the floor, methodically hammering the spikes into the packed earth. Was his hand trembling as he lifted the hammer?

  She knew she shouldn’t have referred to that terrible night. Even after all these years, the hazy memories fell over her like a gray curtain. She chewed at her lip and looked down at her hands. But she had said it. After all these years of pushing back the dark thoughts, she had said the word. She slanted a quick glance at the two of them. It had all been so long ago; perhaps they didn’t think she remembered.

  Father’s shoulders moved awkwardly. Was he crying too? Amy shifted from one foot to the other as Maude dabbed at her eyes. “I—ah, I heard the wagon from Denver. Shall I go down to Joe’s place and get the beans and molasses you ordered?” At her father’s nod she scooped a shawl off the hook and tugged at the door.

  The sky was sullen. As Amy lifted her face, she fancied she felt the touch of moisture against her skin. But the relief she felt made the threat of snow welcome.

  Head down, she slowly walked the length of Central City, toward the shack they called Joe’s store. It didn’t need a sign; everyone knew Joe. Her restless eyes picked out the buildings and noted changes. Some of the shanties on the ridge above the main street were only half completed.

  She passed a patched tent leaning into the mountain. Amy shivered and addressed the lowering sky, “At least we’ve four solid walls, even if the floor’s dirt. That poor fella doesn’t have time to build a house, ’cause he’s so busy washing gold out of the creek.”

  Halfway to Joe’s place Amy stopped. The trip was all too short. Abruptly she turned and took the first trail branching off the road.

  When she had climbed beyond the final line of log cabins, she paused to rest. Looking down over the town, her attention was caught by the signs of life in the camp. A slow drift of smoke came from one chimney. Wind moved the golden leaves on the quaking aspen trees. She watched a leaf fall. A dog barked. In a moment the dog dashed into view and circled back to his master.

  Down the way a miner was fastening a pack to his mule. She guessed he was one of the many quitters. William Byers in his newspaper, Rocky Mountain News, called them the go-backs. Another miner, leading his mule, headed down the mountains. Most likely he would wait out the winter on the plains.

  From the gulch, down Mountain City way, she heard the cries of a teamster and the crack of a whip. Usually that sound filled her with excitement, but today she answered the challenge with a melancholy smile.

  Slowly she wandered, feeling the burden of loneliness, and reviewing all the tales she had been hearing about this wild, no-man’s land. Even worse than being without kin in this empty place was the frightening threat of Indians around every corner.

  “Do I see the water lady?”

  Amy turned as Daniel Gerrett approached. His smile was as lonely as she felt. “Not today,” she answered slowly, “I’m just out for a walk. How I wish there was something to do in this place beside walk the hills!”

  He looked surprised at her outburst. After hesitating he dropped his pick and shovel and lowered himself to a large boulder. “There is. Let’s get acquainted. Tell me about yourself—why have you come here? Not many men brought their families here.”

  “And why not? If the men can survive a mining camp, then why not their families? It’s lonely not having a friend my age.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her and said, “I see you haven’t made acquaintance with your neighbors or you’d know. These men have no intention of staying. They’re doctors, lawyers and such—educated men, come only to gather up all the gold they can before heading home.” He grinned as he added, “When the gold runs out, the Randolphs and others like them will be the only residents this end of Kansas Territory.”

  “Good; then we can go home too.”

  “Do you know that some of the people were expecting to rake up piles of gold? Don’t know how the story started, but it sure was stretched. That’s one reason many gave up that first season and went home.”

  She looked up at him, wondering about him. “What about you? Do you have a family? Are you married?” He shook his head, his eyes twinkling, and for a moment she was embarrassed.

  She added, “You’re like us.”

  He frowned, then asked, “Mother died?”

  She nodded, “Years ago. I was only a little thing. Barely remember any of it. It happened at camp meeting and conference.” She paused, admitting, “Most often it seems like a bad dream. Except for knowing there’s supposed to be mothers, I’d find it easy to think I’d never had one.”

  She was busy poking her boot at the clod of mud when he spoke, and she was surprised at the emotion in his voice. “That’s sad. I wish I could somehow give you half of what I have to remember.”

  After a pause he added, “It’s just Pa and me now. But we’re a good team.” He glanced at her and added, “I’m not too crazy about prospecting, but he is, so I go along.”

  Amy could think of nothing to say, but the silence was comfortable as she watched dark shadows begin to cluster under the trees and bushes. Smoke began to puff from the cabins along the main road.

  “I guess I should be a good missionary and invite you to services. Pretty soon we’ll have to start cramming into the cabin, but right now, on good days we meet under the trees.”

  His voice sounded strained, but he said slowly, “I’d like that.”

  She heard the mournful lowing of Joe’s milk cow, followed by the clink of a pail and the sharp bark of a dog. She sighed and tried to prod herself toward home.

  “You’re going to freeze if you sit out here on the hillside much longer,” he said.

  “October’s colder than I expected.”

  “Snow comes early in the mountains. Down on Cherry Creek, I expect they just have rain.”

  She studied his face. Plain and honest it seemed. He’s shy, she decided, liking the way his eyes met hers just as he ducked his head. Abruptly she asked, “If you aren’t sold on gold mining, what are you interested in?”

  He shook his head, a closed-book expression settling down over his face. “What about you?”

 
“What I’d really like better’n anything else is to learn to play the piano.”

  “Piano?” he said slowly. “Then you have one?”

  She shook her head. “A preacher’s kid? No, of course not. Never could we afford one, and besides they don’t believe in things like that in church. Father’d never even considered having one. But the want is like a gnawing in my bones.”

  “I remember you singing the day we met up on the mountain. You have a nice voice, even though I don’t know much about music.”

  “Neither do I. But since I was little they’ve been having me lead out in church. It’s getting so I know most of the hymns, even the new ones Father says aren’t reverent. Back home they said I’m a natural with music.”

  She sighed heavily and added, “That just makes me ache all the more. One of these days I’ll have a piano.” Reluctantly she added “I can’t see why—”

  Abruptly she stopped. One of the shadows in the street below detached itself from a deeper shadow and moved quickly up the steep hill. It was Aunt Maude. She stopped in front of Daniel. “I know you! It was you the last time—walking her home. There’ll be no shenanigans, young man—now be off! Don’t you ever tarry around my niece again. I know the likes of you fellows, and I won’t tolerate your leading an innocent into sin. Be off!” She brandished her umbrella and reached for Amy’s arm.

  “Ma’am!” Daniel leaped to his feet and snatched at his tattered cap.

  “Say no more!” she ordered, turning her back and tugging at Amy’s arm.

  At home, Amy faced her aunt across the table. She was surprised at the expression the flickering candle exposed. Timidly she said, “Aunt Maude, that young fellow was polite, and I—”

  “No more, young lady!” Amy stared at the pursed lips and flushed face as her aunt muttered, “I knew it was a mistake to come here.”

  The door began banging and groaning. Amy turned as her father came in. She saw the quick glance he gave Aunt Maude before he faced her. “Amy, it’s dark. Where have you been?” His voice was gentle, but she saw the white line around his mouth.