by Marian Wells
“Father, don’t fret. I’m a big girl now; it’s been years since I’ve been scared of the dark or lost my way home.” She tried to laugh, but her aunt’s voice cut in over hers.
“Eli, I told you it would be wrong, bringing a young innocent girl into such a place. And now the other element has moved into town.” She raised her palm ceilingward and cried, “Oh, Lord, what have we gotten into?”
“Maude, say no more.” He turned to pace the room and then return. “I’ve a letter from the bishop. He has expressed a desire for me to stay situated here during the winter season. Likely there’ll be little opportunity to minister to those in the settlements above Central City. I understand the snowfall in the mountains is significant. We can anticipate being snowed in sometimes, but—”
She interrupted, “Eli, what are you saying?”
“That you and Amy can move down into Auraria for the winter season. There’s a hut next door to the bishop.”
“That’s no safety for two women. He’ll be traveling about the territory. No thank you, Eli. If we leave, it will be for home.”
“Father,” Amy cried, “You can’t stay here alone! You need someone to take care of you.” She saw the relief on his face, and went to press her head against his shoulder.
Aunt Maude spoke reluctantly. “Eli, of course it’s my duty to stay with you as long as you need me. Now come, let’s have a bite of supper.”
Amy hesitated, feeling cheapened and depressed. No doubt that young Daniel Gerrett would never come around now. She sighed and went to wash her hands.
Chapter 5
During the warm autumn days the aspen-ringed clearing close to the Randolph cabin was sanctuary for the Methodist Episcopal Church.
On the middle October Sunday, Amy came late into the clearing. Just inside the circle of trees she paused, unexpectedly caught by the scene. Like a golden dome, the yellow leaves arched over the clearing. To Amy their white trunks seemed like pillars of marble.
Her heart lifted in unexpected joy, even as the wind moved the leaves into a whispering reminder that the glory was temporary.
Amy shook herself with a sigh and cocked a critical ear. Father and Aunt Maude were leading the singing. The miners sitting on the log benches were trying to follow, and they were all off key.
As she hesitated, one of the miners on the far edge of the crowd moved and caught her attention. It was Daniel. His eyes were sparkling as if he shared a secret joke with her. The singing—he remembered that day!
She grinned and marched to the front. Father’s furrowed brow relaxed as he beckoned to her.
When the sermon began, even the aspens lost their glow. Father read, “‘The harvest is past, the summer has ended, and we are not saved.’” She looked at that bench Father had placed in readiness. The old familiar dismay swept through her as she tried to concentrate on the words and forget that Daniel Gerrett was listening back there with the other miners.
Suddenly a golden beam of light brightened the clearing. She raised her face to the sun, as if to a promise. But what was the hope?
The sermon ended and the group stood. Amy sighed and rubbed her palms together. Father moved among the men with his hand outstretched. When Amy turned, Daniel met her eyes. Briefly he nodded, then slipped through the trees.
She pushed through the crowd and followed him. “Daniel!” He waited. “Ah—your father didn’t come?”
His grin was twisted and his eyes darkened in a strange way. “Pa doesn’t think much of meetings.”
She hesitated, unable to get past the brooding expression on his face. It was Father’s fault. “I’ll walk a way with you. They’ll be talking forever.”
“Your Aunt Maude won’t like it.”
“You looked—” The words came in a rush now. “I could see you were hurt; don’t let it be—”
“Amy, how do you get religion?”
“Religion?” She carefully searched his face. Those brown eyes were unhappy. More than that. Miserable. She knew the feeling. “Daniel,” she whispered urgently, “don’t feel that way. He’s preaching to sinners—those who drink and gamble and curse and steal, not for good people like me and you.”
He frowned. “You’ve never felt this way?”
She dropped her head, unable to face the expression in his eyes. She admitted, “I do, all the time. I don’t know why. I’ve done like Aunt Maude and Father have said. I do believe. The Bible says Jesus Christ came to save sinners. We can’t get to heaven without His help. I’ve confessed my sins.” She paused, “Is that your problem? Haven’t you?”
“Confessed? No. But if it doesn’t help, why do it?”
“Then read your Bible.” Her voice rose in frustration and she gulped. Amy twisted her hands and faced the misery in herself. Why can’t I understand enough to say this right? She glanced at him, desperately wishing for the words that weren’t there. But why should it matter so much what this miner thought?
“I don’t have one.” He frankly studied her face. “Do you? Read it, I mean.” She nodded.
There was nothing more to say. Silently they walked along the road leading toward Eureka Gulch. Suddenly he took a deep breath, grinned. “Here I am walking with the prettiest gal I’ve ever seen and glooming like I didn’t have good sense. But, Amy, I don’t want you to get in trouble with your aunt. What will it take to get in her good graces?”
She could only stare in surprise. He was grinning now, but the dark expression was still there in his eyes.
She shrugged, still looking at the ground. “I expect Aunt Maude’s never going to be much friendly to any fellow. It might help if you come to services. You’ll be staying the winter?”
He nodded. They had reached the trail branching off the road. “Our claim is just over this ridge. I suppose we’d better say goodbye before I get you into more trouble. About services—I don’t know.” The troubled expression was still there.
Her emotions flattened. Conscious she had failed, Amy walked slowly down the hill. Deep inside, the memory of Daniel’s face worked like a shovel, digging down through the layers, sifting thoughts she didn’t want disturbed.
“Daniel,” she whispered into the wind and the drift of golden aspen leaves, “I must admit, I know all the right answers about religion, but it doesn’t work. I wish I could tell you how I really feel, but that would shock you. You’d never come back, and I want you to come again. Daniel, I know nice girls follow the rules; they don’t have a desire to scream against God and tell Him that His rules are ugly and out of date.”
Father and Aunt Maude were in front of the cabin. Amy sighed and smoothed her best smile into place.
When she saw the question in her Father’s eyes and the frown on Aunt Maude’s face, she blurted, “Father, I think you need to talk to Daniel Gerrett. He wants to know how to be a Christian.”
Aunt Maude sniffed, “Most likely. It’s a smart move when the pastor has a sixteen-year-old daughter and she’s the only gal in camp.”
With November, winter settled down on Central City. The snows came, blanketing the torn earth and pine cabins until the town seemed transformed from a sad, scarred world into a fairytale.
Many of the miners had returned to Denver City for the winter, but some stayed on. Nearly every day Amy saw dark shadows detach themselves from the log huts and miserable tents to press a trail of footprints up the gulch.
A few wagons pulled by long strings of mules were able to make their way up the canyon road to drop mining supplies and tools as well as sides of bacon and bags of flour at Joe’s store.
Glad to escape the stifling cabin, Amy took solitary walks through the snow. Some days, when the kind sun released the lid of ice on the creek, she carried her water pail. Most often Aunt Maude melted snow for water.
Frequently on her walks she saw Daniel Gerrett in the distance. He hunched against the cold, walking listlessly to and from his father’s diggings. She watched his dragging steps and remembered his dark eyes shadowed by the nameless f
ears. Several times he waved to her, but that was all. He hadn’t come to services since they had moved inside the Randolph cabin. But then, none of the other miners came either.
One day as she and her father watched his lonely walk, she shook her head and said, “All that gold waiting to be dug, and Daniel doesn’t seem to care a bit. How I’d like to change places with him! I’d gladly swing a pick if he would trade.”
Father gave her such a sharp glance she was immediately ashamed, but for once she tilted her jaw and didn’t try to make the confession sound better.
Each Sabbath when Amy looked at the empty benches, she compressed her lips to keep from saying her piece about the young miner Aunt Maude had sharpened her tongue on. Mostly the desire came when Aunt Maude complained about the indifference of the miners to the things of the Lord.
The Randolphs continued to line crude benches inside the tiny cabin. While they waited for the men to come, Maude would stand at the door and stare at the shack next to Joe’s place. Amy watched, too. Early in the day men would appear, puffing and pounding their hands against the cold as they made their way down the street with nary a glance at the Randolph cabin. Soon the shack would vibrate with shouts and ribald singing.
Sometimes Father’s sermon would slip past her as she strained her ears, wondering about the activities going on inside that rickety cabin. Why does that laughter make me feel lonely? she wondered, wistfully. There were so many whys in her life, but one look at Aunt Maude was enough to keep the questions unasked.
Just before Christmas Amy had her sixteenth birthday, and Father gave her a gold coin. Aunt Maude’s frown made Amy quickly tuck the coin out of sight, but she spent long hours dreaming of spending it in Denver.
In the midst of a snow storm, Eli carried home the latest news. He came into the cabin with his packet of letters and the sack of beans.
Going to the little stove, he held out his hands. “It’s a relief to see the men with a new interest,” he said, “I’ve been concerned. Their cold empty hands and restless spirits have kept them in the saloons most of the winter. Now some outfit has come in with a wad of money and big plans to build up the place.”
Aunt Maude moved away from the stove and asked, “I suppose it’s not good.”
“I don’t know the facts, but I do know there’s a bunch of fellows happy to have a job.” After cocking her head to think, Aunt Maude nodded slowly.
By the time the snow melted the town was filled with the sound of the axe and the pounding of the hammer. On her walks, Amy breathed deeply of the new smells and admitted the streets of Central City were more fragrant with the scent of fresh cut pine. The aroma reminded Amy of Christmas back home.
But it was only the aroma. Christmas seemed out of place here in a town of spindly shacks, clinging to the sides of the gulch while the wind howled and piled snow high. Central City also lacked the fragrance of apples and cinnamon, sage, and turkey. There wasn’t a single child’s shout. No colorful skirts and bonnets were seen in Joe’s store. Christmas passed quietly, almost unnoticed.
By January the streets halfway up the sides of the hill were being lined with tiny new cabins as quickly as the men could pound them together. Amy looked at the cabins and her excitement grew. Summer would bring more people. “Please,” she whispered, “just one friend.”
She also saw one large, rambling log building spilling down the hill at the far end of Central City. Standing in the snow, Amy counted windows, whispering to herself, “It’s got to be a hotel.”
But Amy had to keep her guesses and excitement to herself. Around home no one seemed in the mood for the news. The weather made Aunt Maude grumpy, while Father was often morose, sunk deeply in his own thoughts as he huddled beside the fire.
Amy continued her walks breathing deeply of the crisp air, enjoying the snow. Often on her way to the store, she let her curiosity lead her down every trail in town and on the mountainsides.
Early February brought the first hint of spring. When the dark clouds fled after dumping their snow, the sun immediately reduced it to water, crashing and roaring down the canyon.
On one of the first bright days, Amy was at Joe’s store when the supply wagon pulled into town. The long line of gray mules blocked the road, and Amy moved cautiously around them to watch the teamster roll barrels out of the wagon.
A bundle of clothing wedged between flour sacks moved, and instantly Amy’s attention was caught. The bulky figure backed out of the wagon. A valise and several boxes followed. When a brown arm stretched through the shawl, Amy took a few quick steps forward.
A slash of white in the dark face turned toward Amy. Bright eyes twinkled. “My chile, y’all never seen a Negress before?”
Amy remembered her manners. “No, ma’am. Not since leaving Lawrence, Kansas.”
“Well now, I’ll tell you so’s y’all don’t get the wrong idea,” the dark-skinned woman shoved back the shawl and looked at the ring of men standing around the wagon. “I’m a freed woman.” She continued, “My name’s Clara Brown. I’ve got my papers here to prove I’ve bought my freedom.”
One of the men stirred and chuckled. “Ya come up here to do a little gold mining?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Aunt Clara Brown’s here to set up a laundry.” There was a brief silence, then a cheer went up.
The men pressed forward and one extended a greasy sleeve. “I’ll be your first customer—if you’ll take gold dust in payment.”
A wistful voice asked, “Do you do any cooking? I haven’t had anything except fatback, beans, and flapjacks since I left Chicago.”
There was a clatter behind Amy and she turned. The teamster was unloading a shiny washtub. He dropped a scrub board into it, and Clara Brown said, “Only thing I need now is a cabin close to the crick with a good stove in it.”
Amy watched the men surround Clara. Telling about it at home, she said, “It was like a bunch of bees in clover. Those men wouldn’t let her out of sight for a minute. Most of them, that is. Grabbed up the tub and her boxes. Last I saw of her, they were practically shoving her up the hill toward Eureka Gulch. Guess now I’ll have to walk farther upstream to get good water.”
“I saw some men carrying a little stove up the hill,” Eli said, lowering his book. “Looked like they were headed for one of the abandoned cabins on the gulch.”
Aunt Maude bent over her knitting, saying, “Well, it’s starting to seem like a real town. A laundress, a former slave—she’s had good training. Wonder how she could save enough to buy her freedom?”
“There was one man,” Amy mused slowly, “ragged as the rest. Said he hoped she’d keep her place.”
The next Sabbath, while Amy stood at the window, watching the line of men headed toward the shack, Aunt Clara Brown turned up the path toward the Randolph cabin. When she sailed into the room, Amy saw the expressions of surprise and dismay fight for control of Aunt Maude’s face.
Clara eyed the line of benches and then peered out the door at the group pressing toward the shack. “My, oh my,” she murmured. “I ’spect their families back home are all church people, and look at them a-goin’ in that place.”
She cocked her head at Eli. “Parson, what’s in the heart of man that he’ll forget everything he’s been taught when he leaves home? My, the brawlin’ and shootin’ I saw while I was in Denver City. They’s even taking the law in their own hands without fearin’ no one. We watched two men shoot it out. One had to be carried off, and they toted the other direct to the graveyard. Didn’t even git a preacher.”
Aunt Maude was thawing. Amy moved closer to listen. “Now back home, in the old days,” Maude said, “I remember camp meeting and how the sinners were getting saved. Night after night, they’d light the big old fires and draw the wagons up close. Sometimes we’d have a half dozen preachers going at it all at the same time.” She smiled and her face softened. “If you didn’t like one preacher, you’d move on to the next.”
“Aw, and I remember too.” Aunt Clara’s f
ace shone and she shook her head as she chuckled. “Oh, but we did look forward to those times! No work done in the evenings while the camp meetings were going on. Back to back, they’d stick up those big tall platforms. White folk on one side and the black ones on the other.
“Sometimes you’d get the feeling the preacher boys were all trying to out-shout each other. Oh, the way those old sinners would hit the mourner’s bench. We had our own men for preaching, but I watched Bishop Asbury. My, what a dignified gentleman of God he was! How he could shout and sing those hard old sinners into the fold! A saint, a true saint. Yessuh, I expect to see him in heaven.”
For just a moment Amy saw a shadow cross Clara’s face. “Up there I don’t expect them to have a line drawn down the middle of the camp meetings, with white folk on one side and the darky straining to hear from the other.”
Amy caught the wistfulness in Clara’s voice, and Aunt Maude’s strident tones overlapped Clara’s. “I remember those camp meetings. Such sinners there were at times. Reprobates just come to sell their whiskey on the sly and cause trouble. But come altar time, they couldn’t stand before the breath of the Lord.”
She was chuckling and wiping at her eyes as she continued, “One time when old Peter Cartwright was the preacher, he got wind of a bunch planning no good. Sneaked up on their tent in the middle of the night. All by himself, he was. Heard them planning to beat up on all the preacher fellows right in their tents. Cartwright said he got himself pockets full of pebbles and sneaked up on them. When all was quiet, he started yelling out—like he was calling to a whole pack of men around the tent. He shouted, ‘Charge ’em, get ’em, fellas!’ and then he let go with his hands full of rocks, pelting that tent like an army was attacking. He said those fellows took off and weren’t seen again.”
Abruptly Aunt Maude was prim. “All we want is to do the Lord’s work up here, ministering to the miners.” She shook her head. “I’m fearin’ they’re a bunch of reprobates, too. Only wanting to go down to that shack.”
Aunt Clara took a seat and said, “Well, let’s sing. Maybe that’ll help. At least with the four of us, we can make enough noise to get their attention.” She was shaking her head sadly. “I’m a fearing they’ll all take sick and die without the Lord. One of the fellas was coughing bad when he came after his laundry.”