by Marian Wells
“The vengeance of the Lord.”
Clara’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “I wasn’t thinking of that. I was in that saloon to deliver Joe’s laundry, and I saw it all. There’s one old table with a bunch of dirty cards for entertainment. Over by the stove there’s a shelf stuck on the wall with a jug of whiskey and a nasty old cup. I watched. A fellow plunks down his twenty-five cents and gets a cup of something they are calling Taos Lightning. Then all the others line up and use the same cup. Never gets washed. That’s the way the sickness gets passed around. Mark my words.”
Amy did mark Clara’s words. And she quickly decided Aunt Clara Brown was another Aunt Maude, only in a different color.
At least she thought so until the April thaw set in. The first stagecoach of the season had made its way up the canyon through the mud. When it pulled up in front of the store, Amy was at Joe’s place, choosing molding bacon rather than a can of peaches, more flour instead of tins of imported sweets. When she heard the first trill of laughter, she dropped the bacon and shot through the door.
The man blocking her view was shaking his head, saying, “Ain’t they lovely. Just guess I’m going to have to take my duds up to Aunty Clara and sharpen up a bit.”
“Better go fish a few gold nuggets outta the crick first,” grumbled the man beside him. “These pretty little fillies won’t cast an eye on you unless they see the gleam of gold first.”
Amy bent down to peer under his arm. The array of bright colors and flaring skirts filled her vision, enhanced by the swish of twirling parasols. Another protruding elbow blocked her view as the owner drawled, “Somebody better warn them pretty girls about the high winds hereabouts. Could swoop over the mountain and swish them right back to Denver City.”
“Then you be prepared to grab an ankle as they fly over. We don’t wanna lose our culture before we get to appreciate it proper-like.”
Amy didn’t report that conversation when she went home. She was still thinking about the pretty dresses and saucy smiles under plumed, velvet bonnets.
In the days that followed she heard more. The men around Joe’s place referred to the rows of tiny new cabins as cribs. But there never seemed to be a suitable time to ask Father what that meant.
Scarcely had the ice melted on the creek when more miners descended on the town. “Thick as fleas,” Aunt Maude said with distaste in her voice.
“This is going to be a good year,” Father commented with a satisfied grin. “I’m thinking ahead to getting a church built before autumn.”
Amy watched his face shed the worry lines. “Aunt Clara has helped lots, hasn’t she?” Amy asked, recalling the hordes of miners who had suddenly decided church was a better way to spend the Sabbath. “I’m still wondering what she said to get all these men in here on Sunday.”
Eli was thoughtfully tugging at his beard. “I’m guessing it’s just Aunt Clara.”
“Could be,” Amy murmured. She thought of her trip up Eureka to get water. “Father, last week I passed Aunt Clara on the mountain. I fuss about carrying a pail of water up and down the mountainside, but she was carrying a load of laundry big enough to make a mule balk. Just as I got close to her, she sat down to rest. There she was on that rock, acting like she was in church. I was so embarrassed I almost didn’t speak to her.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes were surprised, then brooding with a strange expression she didn’t understand. “You mean you were ashamed of what she said?”
Amy shrugged and took a moment to ponder before she answered. “Well, her face was shining like camp meeting and she was sitting there with her hands waving up in the sky, shouting, ‘Glory, glory, glory!’ That was all. It kinda gave me goosebumps.
“There were a couple of men coming down the hill on horseback. They stopped to listen to her for a moment. Dressed like gentlemen. I’m certain one fellow is the lawyer who comes from Denver. He stood there a minute, looking hungry-like, and then he went on down the road. The other fellow behind him seemed like he was about to laugh until that lawyer gave him a sharp look.” Amy was aware that her father was giving her a sharp look, and before she could say more, he had taken his hat and gone.
Aunt Maude’s glance was sharp, too. She was shaking her head as she bent over the needle she held. She sighed heavily and said, “Oh, for the good old days when revival really happened.”
Chapter 6
“Hello, water lady. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.” It was Daniel Gerrett, his eyes shining.
Amy ducked her head, “I—hello.” She tried to find words. “Been a long time.” She looked at the wind ruffling his hair and lifting the corner of his collar. Her heart yearned in a way she couldn’t understand. She swallowed hard and said, “We’ve melted snow for water since the creek froze up. What you been up to?”
“Pa and I have been getting ore with good color. He’s gone into Denver to have it assayed and to get some dynamite.”
Amy shivered. “That’s exciting—and scary. Blasting to get the gold. They’ve been shooting the mountain down in Black Hawk. Had big boulders rolling down the slopes.”
Daniel shifted uneasily and said, “I know. There’s more enthusiasm than sense. But there’s good things happening. Heard a sharp-looking fellow’s buying up every hole in the ground showing color.” He paused, adding soberly, “Some say he’s pushing too hard, that he’s strong-arming his way, bullying people to sell when they shouldn’t.” Daniel shrugged. “I’d like to see him offer Pa a sum.”
“What do you mean about him pushing?”
“Talked one fellow into digging his tunnel too deep. Final blast brought the whole thing in on him. Happened over in Russell Gulch.”
Amy searched the troubled eyes before she asked, “You don’t like mining, do you?”
“Not much. Pa’s happy about the whole thing—has a dream of being rich.” Amy was trying to find something to say when Daniel kicked at a rock and said, “Pa’s having trouble with the bottle. Seems being rich is the last thing he needs. Besides, I don’t think he’s cautious enough.”
Slowly Amy said, “You’re mining just—to be with him?” He nodded.
“That’s—” Amy gulped and grinned up at him. “Nice of you.” She shrugged, conscious of her heart beating wildly. “Even Father would approve. A fellow going along with his pa like that.”
He turned away, but Amy had seen his eyes. Daniel was worried. She whispered, “Blasting. Somehow it’s exciting until it’s someone you know.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to get you fussed.” He reached out to ruffle her hair. “How’s the church business doing?”
She could only look at him, wondering if he ever thought about their last conversation. She recalled the glib way she answered his questions. How could she admit her own dark feelings? Faith. Father preached about believing—but how did one do it so it worked?
His question was waiting. She looked up, “Pretty good since Aunt Clara stirred up the men. The way they streamed in made Aunt Maude say she probably threatened to quit washing for them.” She paused, then said, “We haven’t seen you.”
He shrugged, “I’m afraid your aunt would chase me out with a broom.”
“Not if you were just coming to church.” His grin was crooked. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I didn’t choose my aunt.”
“But she’s choosing your friends.” His voice was bitter and Amy’s heart lightened. “I’m not bragging about being much, but seems there’s not enough people around to be that picky.”
“Picky? Daniel Gerrett—” The hasty words were left hanging. How could she say what she thought—even admit the times she had strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of him? Would a nice girl say she was starting to like his bean-pole build and his eyes that seemed ready to swallow her? Amy hesitated, recalling the harsh words Aunt Maude had used on him. “Aunt Maude—doesn’t have anything to take up her time, so she fusses about me.” Then she added brightly, “Well, I guess what she doesn’t know won’t hurt h
er.”
Daniel looked startled, and Amy felt her cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not doing anything wrong. Being friends and talking with you out here on the mountainside isn’t a bad thing, and if she doesn’t know—” Daniel frowned and Amy shrugged again.
With a sigh, he picked up Amy’s pail. “Well, come on. I’d deserve a bad name if I walk off without helping a lady get a pail of water.”
Lady. Amy grinned up at him as they swung up the trail to the gulch where the stream gushed through the rocks and spilled into a basin. She could see Aunt Clara’s cabin roof sticking up over the next rise.
“About Aunt Maude,” Amy said slowly. “I think if it weren’t for me, she’d be taking you home for dinner.”
He grinned. “It isn’t Aunt Maude I want to see.”
“But you could talk to Father, ask the questions I bumbled over.” He shot a quick glance at her, and the dark expression was back. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I never say the right things.”
Awkwardly he thumped her shoulder. “Aw, Amy, don’t mind me.”
“Daniel, doesn’t it help to know others have miseries too?”
“No, it just makes it worse.” He stopped on the trail and looked down into her eyes. “My mother didn’t seem to have miseries, but I was too young to ask questions back then.” He walked a few steps more and Amy hurried after him. He said, “Guess I shouldn’t dump my feelings. But somehow I’ve got a need. I’m restless; I want to understand life. Isn’t God supposed to matter more’n anything?”
Amy nodded, desperate to say the important things. But more than that, she sensed Daniel was close to being a friend. “Let’s go see Aunt Clara. I have a feeling she can help.”
He turned to look at her with a question in his eyes. She hastily said, “Aunt Maude would approve. She thinks Aunt Clara is a wonder.” She turned and pointed, “See, that’s her roof poking through the trees.”
He left the pail beside the stream and Amy led the way.
Aunt Clara’s door was open. Amy could hear the thump of her iron and the creak of the old ironing board as they approached. They could also hear her voice, with another chiming in as Amy pounded on the door. “Amazing grace—how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me—”
“Come in, child, before you knock the door down.”
Barney Ford was sitting at Aunt Clara’s table. One foot was resting on her chair. Amy looked at the white bandage swathing his foot. “Hurt it?”
“The Lord was merciful or he’d be minus a foot.”
Barney added, “Axe. Only a slight cut, but the doctor here says stay off it a day or so.”
As he spoke Amy studied his face. She was surprised to see how light his skin was, while his eyes were gray. When he grinned, she blushed. “I’m sorry. This is the first time I’ve seen you up close. Why haven’t you come to services with Aunt Clara?”
“I will. She’s not only convinced me I’m welcome, but that the Lord’s requested my presence.”
“If I had my eyes closed, I’d think you were a white man. Are you a runaway slave?”
“Amy!” Daniel had her arm. “Don’t ask that.”
Slowly Amy backed away from Daniel, looked from one dark face to the other. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was very thoughtless of me. As usual, I said the first thing that popped into my mind.”
Daniel said, “I’ve heard enough in Denver City to make me think Pikes Peak land isn’t far enough away from what’s going on in the states.”
Aunt Clara returned to thumping her iron on the white shirt and Barney Ford said, “Don’t fuss at the little lady. I could see her perplexity. My eyes and skin bring up questions. My mother was a slave; my father was the master.”
“And he speaks like a white man because his mammy raised him so.” Aunt Clara reached for another shirt. “He’s also read every book this side of the Mississippi.”
“Not quite, my friend,” Barney grinned at Clara. “I have the advantage of a good many friends who’ve helped me make my way. None are any better than this good woman. She’s rented me sleeping quarters in her woodshed for the price of a pile of logs.”
“Barney’s been telling me about some of his other friends. He’s come from Pennsylvania.” The man glanced quickly at Aunt Clara as she continued, “There’s a host of people out there with a soul burden to help their brothers, regardless of the color of their skin.”
Daniel stirred on his stool and leaned forward. Amy heard the note of excitement in his voice as he said, “Are you talking about the underground railroad? About people like Garrison, John Brown, and the Coffins?”
Barney nodded, “Others, too. The Coffins I’ve met. A finer couple you’ll never know. Grew up in North Carolina, and know firsthand how the slaves are treated. He and his wife moved to Indiana, started a store there in Newport. Wasn’t long until they were sheltering and feeding every runaway slave that came their way.”
Aunt Clara added quickly, “There’s others.”
“A couple of years before we left Kansas,” Amy said, “John Brown and his men started a fuss in Pottawotamie. There were five men killed. They said it was revenge for the attack in Lawrence. That happened before we moved there, but they still talk about it. I can’t understand it all.”
Aunt Clara sighed and shook her head. “Draw a line. On one side there’s people who would die for another man’s welfare. On the other side there’s people getting rich by controlling men. ’Tain’t the love of God in it.”
Daniel shifted restlessly. “Some of the white men argue they’ve a God-given right to own slaves as long as they are responsible for their welfare—like children who’ll never grow up.”
“Do you agree with that?” Barney asked.
“I haven’t had much education, especially in the Bible,” Daniel said slowly, frowning over his words. “But it seems to me that men are men, regardless of their color or birthplace. Seems, if we have a better position in life, we’re somehow obligated to make room there for anyone who wants to join us.”
“That’s the Christian thing,” Aunt Clara nodded again.
“Is it?” Daniel asked slowly. “I’ve been wondering—”
“Aunt Clara,” Amy broke in, “Daniel wants to be a Christian. I told him you would help.”
Slowly Aunt Clara placed her iron back on the stove and came around the ironing board. With hands on her hips she looked at Amy. “How come you aren’t tellin’ him what it takes?” Then she shifted her attention to Daniel.
“Why do you want to be a Christian? Is it because you’re intent on escaping hell fire and damnation, or is it something more?”
For a long time the room was silent. When Daniel finally lifted his head, he said, “I—I don’t rightly know. There’s just this big need. Sure, I’ve heard the street preachers giving it out about the wrath of God and hell. Sure, I’m scared of meeting God. Is there something more, some other reason?”
Aunt Clara went back to her ironing. Amy watched her shake out the starched shirt and pick up the iron. She was singing softly under her breath, “’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved…. When we’ve been there ten thousand years, we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise—”
She paused and looked at Daniel. “That song was written by a former slave trader. The Lord sure made a change in him, didn’t he? Seems a body needs to feel he wants change more’n anything, wants to live up to what the Lord has in mind for him.”
The afternoon sun was starting to slant in Aunt Clara’s window. Amy moved restlessly on her stool, and Daniel glanced up. “I—I think I’d better go,” she said softly.
Daniel stood up and said, “Thank you, Aunt Clara; you’ve given me something to think about.”
They reached the stream and the bucket. Daniel still hadn’t said a word. His heavy silence was making Amy uneasy, feeling as if something had been splintered for good.
She watched him dip the pail full of water. When he turned with
a smile, Amy took a deep breath and grinned up at him. “So now you have the gospel according to Aunt Clara. Barney Ford seems interesting. I’d like to listen to him longer. Aunt Clara says he has a wife and child and that he’s working hard to get them out here.”
Daniel was really listening to her now, but there was still the need to bridge the distance between. He touched her arm, “Come on, it’s getting late.”
Desperation mounted, and she twisted her hands. “Daniel.”
He turned and waited, then finally asked, “What is it you want?”
“Want?” She studied his dark eyes, conscious of the distance widening. It was new, this feeling of having to snatch at something quickly before it slipped away. What did girls do? “Daniel—” He waited, then she gulped, “Well—kiss me.”
“Why?”
She was astonished at his curious question. “Because I’m sixteen. I’ve never had a fellow try to kiss me.”
“Well, I’m not trying now. I know better.” He was chuck-ling and Amy frowned, feeling silly and very young.
“Do you treat all the girls this way?”
“I’ve never had a girl. Wouldn’t know how to treat her if I did. The kissing might not be so bad, but I sure can’t risk another run-in with Aunt Maude.”
“Oh, Daniel!” Amy wailed. “You are impossible! You call me a lady, follow me up the mountain, and carry my water. I almost thought this was important.”
She saw his eyes. It was important, too important for a meaningless kiss. They walked in silence, with Amy still choking over the lump in her throat.
Just down the road Amy saw her father marching toward them, head down, striding up the rough trail. Amy glanced at the sky, then sighed with relief. “Father!”
Eli looked up, blinked. A confused, lost look was melting out of his face as he exclaimed, “Amy!” He reached for the pail. “Here, son, I’ll carry it. Good of you to rescue my daughter. I suppose the water pail is too heavy for her. Must remember.” Dismay swept through Amy. It was Father’s not-at-home voice and Daniel was as wooden to him as the pine trees.