Colorado Gold

by Marian Wells

  He sighed and took up his story, his face marked by a new bleakness. “She was only fifteen when Amy was born. We were happy, if a grown man can be happy with a little girl who sometimes tires of playing house. She was pretty all right, and I spoiled her—petting her along when I should have known there was a limit to it all. When the money was gone and there were no more pretty trinkets coming in, when the hard realities of parsonage life began to come in the front door—well, we had troubles.”

  Daniel spoke. “Amy’s talked about her mother. She seems to remember nothing but the good. I know she still grieves deeply over her death. Sir, I believe that’s why Amy’s so unhappy at camp meeting. I think there’s shadowy things she remembers, buried deep inside.”

  Eli raised his head and interrupted. “Son. Amy’s mother isn’t dead. It was Maude who started that story. She just plain couldn’t face the disgrace of it all. See, Maude had come to live with us. She was mother to both Amy and Amelia.”

  “That’s her name,” Daniel spoke automatically, as if reviewing the facts. “Does Amy know?”

  Eli shook his head. “Amelia left me at camp meeting time. She just couldn’t take the pressure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The old struggle—old as Adam and Eve. At the time I’d only an inkling of how bad it was.

  “During the meeting I watched Amelia running forward to fall on the altar, and I thought there was hope. Later she stood and walked away, saying she’d never go back.”

  “She left then?”

  Eli nodded. “She made her choice, but it’s been a hard one for me to live with. Some of the men saw her go. Left with a fellow who’d been hanging around the meeting all that week. I’ve had letters from her. No address, just notes saying she was sorry for it all.

  “Once in a while tales drifted back, people saying they’d seen her. Always the tales came from the west. When I was sent out by the Nebraska conference, I wasn’t too reluctant. I was moving west. Guess a person never gives up hope. I’d be more content if I knew how it had all turned out with her.”

  “You sound—” Daniel coughed, “I guess it’s hard to quit loving.” Eli didn’t answer. Finally Daniel stood up.

  Eli looked him in the eye. “See, son? I’ve done you a disservice. Like mother, like daughter. They say it’s bad blood; maybe it is. When I heard you were married, it was like a load of fear slid off me. I kept thinking she’d be safe, now—”

  Daniel was surprised by the wooden stiffness of his lips as he forced the words. “She’s probably dead. Amy need never know about this.”

  “That doesn’t change the situation now.”

  “Except that I know where Amy is. Father Dyer and I’ll be holding revival services in Buckskin Joe during November. Sir, pray for us, and for Amy. I’m beginning to see something I didn’t recognize before—I thought being a preacher’s daughter, she knew.”

  Eli looked at him, puzzled. “I want Amy to know Jesus Christ as her Savior.” Eli started to protest, and then shrugged in silence. Daniel looked at the bewildered expression on Eli’s face and regretted his words. I shouldn’t have said it to him. God, what pain, to preach over the heads of those we love most. It’s too late for her mother, but not for Amy. I understand now. Amy doesn’t know about love. Only fear. Wrath, hell fire. And I want to be the one to help her learn that you run after God because you love Him.

  Chapter 21

  It was nearly ten o’clock—church time. That made Amy uneasy. She glanced at the sun. It was shining brightly; everyone could see she wasn’t going to church. She hurried along, taking hasty gulps of the morning air; she turned off the road to cross the meadow.

  Having been there before made it easier now. After another quick glance at the sun, Amy marched across the frozen expanse of brown grass, trying to not care about what people were thinking.

  She walked up the steps and into the boardinghouse. This Sunday morning, her footsteps were the only ones creaking across the rough-timbered floor. She paused and closed the door again, hard this time. A tousled head appeared over the banister, sleepy eyes widened. “Is the place on fire?”

  “No,” Amy said slowly, “Where is everyone? It’s nearly noon.”

  The rest of the girl appeared. She came down the stairs hugging her skimpy gown about her. Shivering she said, “Ugh, it’s cold. What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for Lizzie.”

  “In the middle of the night? Come back this afternoon! None of us get up this early.” The scorn in her voice ended the conversation and she headed upstairs.

  The door opposite the parlor opened. Amy exclaimed, “Silverheels!” She studied the face above the blue velvet robe. The question in the blue eyes changed to anger. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Amy whispered. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ve today off and I just thought—”

  “You’d come visiting.” The woman sighed and Amy was surprised to see lines creasing the smooth face into a pattern that was both sad and lonely.

  The blue eyes softened. Amy couldn’t turn away. The woman’s face, free now of the bright dabs of color and the strained smile, was beginning to seem warm and attractive.

  Amy blurted out, “You have such beautiful skin; it’s a shame to—”

  “Cover it with rouge? Spoken like a true daughter of a clergyman.”

  Astonishment made Amy’s jaw drop. “How did you know about Father? Oh, I know—Lizzie must have told you all about Central City.”

  Amy rushed on. “That’s why I’ve come. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Lizzie. And because of what she said, I dared not wait another day.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “Well—she thought I was uppity. Too good for her.”

  The woman’s mocking smile burst through. “You’re sure it isn’t because of the piano, of feeling obligated? Lizzie hasn’t been well.”

  “Oh dear, I was afraid of that. I thought she looked peaked the last time I saw her.”

  “Come back to the kitchen; I’ll start coffee and see if Lizzie can come down.” Amy followed Silverheels down the hall, looking curiously about as she went through the dining room and into the kitchen.

  The big cookstove still cradled warm embers. Silverheels poked around inside, and then crushed in paper and kindling. When the flames settled, she pulled the coffeepot forward and ladled in the fragrant coffee. “I’ll get her,” she murmured, heading for the door.

  Amy paced about the room, examining everything. Abundance—more of everything than I’ve ever seen, she thought. Her eyes took in the stacks of dishes, the big oven, the mammoth table and the heaps of potatoes, onions, and squash piled beside the back door. A pantry door stood open. She could see mounds of pastry and covered tins stacked high.

  The floorboards creaked behind Amy. She turned around as Silverheels came into the room. “No wonder you like living here—no danger of going hungry.”

  A line appeared between Silverheels’ eyebrows, “You’ve gone hungry?”

  “Oh, not really. But a parson sure doesn’t live like this.”

  Silverheels hesitated, then glanced at Amy. “I’ll get you some coffee. I’ve called one of the girls to go after Lizzie.”

  They settled down at the table with their mugs. While Silverheels sipped coffee, Amy studied the mug. “This is pretty!”

  Giving her a pleased smile, the woman leaned forward, “You appreciate fine things, too bad—” There was the quick slap of heels coming down the hall. “Oh, Silver,” wailed the girl as she came into the room. “Lizzie is throwing up again. She says she can’t come yet.”

  The girl stopped. “Oh, begging your pardon.” Her voice was prim but her eyes were wickedly gleeful. “Now the other half’ll know how we live.” She bobbed a mock curtsey and backed toward the door, clutching the shawl over her thin gown.

  Amy got to her feet, “Oh, dear. I didn’t realize she’s that sick. Is it something catching?”

  Silverheels sipped her coffee and smiled. “I don�
�t think so. Mrs. Gerrett, you should know all about these little problems. It is Mrs., isn’t it?” There was a glint in her eyes, and with a sinking heart Amy understood.

  That girl. What did she mean ‘other half’? Was she talking about life here in the boardinghouse? Strange, how easy it was to ignore the ugly part. The girl had drawn the line with her mocking voice. For another moment, Amy played with the handle on her mug. Father had hinted about these kind of things. Dance-hall girls.

  “You mean she’s pregnant, don’t you?” Amy sighed. “Poor Lizzie. I guess I was thinking she had better—sense.”

  Silverheels’ face was growing hard, cold. Impatiently she got to her feet. “It’s a risk the girls have to take!” she snapped. “Also, you notice they aren’t starving. I’ll go take care of Lizzie.”

  “Then I’d better leave.”

  The woman paused and turned. Her face was completely expressionless. “Aren’t you fearful of what she’ll think?”

  “Tell her I’ll be back.”

  “Maybe she should just come see you—at the post office.”

  Amy walked back to Tabors’ boardinghouse, feeling guilty. Friend! I’m nearly glad I couldn’t see her. What do you say to a person like that?

  Amy was nearly home before she could examine her other emotion. Silverheels’ eyes had been scornful. “She’s thinking I’m a silly little baby because I was shocked.” Her steps dragged. Amy tried to understand her reaction. Why should I care how the madame feels?

  Then with astonishment Amy said, “Maybe I’ve just been pretending I don’t know what’s going on in these places. It’s easier, because Lizzie has been so nice to me. But Aunt Maude says nice girls don’t let boys touch them.” She moved her shoulders impatiently even as she imagined the thin, disapproving droop to Aunt Maude’s lips. “Aunt Maude would say Lizzie has all the marks of hell on her. So now I know, I’m obligated to stay away from Lizzie.” Rebellion boiled up—against Aunt Maude, against the mockery in Silverheels’ eyes.

  Augusta, leading her little boy by the hand, met her at the door. “We’ve been to services. Mighty barren it was. Folks don’t seem to have much enthusiasm for worship on the Sabbath.” She sighed heavily and then brightened as she said, “Father Dyer is going to be holding revival services starting the first part of November. I happen to know he’s looking about for a person to play his little portable organ. If you’re interested, I’ll tell him.”

  Amy couldn’t control the shudder. She rubbed her arms and said, “My, I hope I haven’t taken a chill.”

  Later that week, while Amy was sitting behind the wire mesh cage enclosing her desk, the first of the compelling hands reached out to her.

  A woman marched into the post office carrying a sheet of paper advertising the revival meetings. The woman’s appearance was familiar: a calico was hidden under a dark shawl, steel-gray hair twisted so tight her eyebrows were stretched into an expression of surprise.

  She pulled a hammer and a nail out of her bag. Amy’s mouth twitched with amusement as she watched her attempts to hold the paper, lift the hammer and pound the nail. The woman’s face was red from effort when the door opened.

  The girl in yellow taffeta grinned under her fur-trimmed bonnet. Flashing a mischievous smile at Amy, she stepped forward. “Here, I’ll help you.” She held up the poster while the woman pounded the nails. “So we’re going to have a revival meeting, starting November 6, 1861?”

  The woman backed up and looked at the fur-trimmed bonnet and the yellow frock. “Thank you for the help. Yes, we’ll be having meetings.” She paused and slowly added, “You’re welcome. Bring your friends.”

  With a saucy smile, while the bonnet bobbed, the girl said, “It would cut competition, wouldn’t it?”

  During the week, Amy watched as the wall in the post office was decorated with more posters. The boardinghouse across the way was having a grand ball on the night of November ninth. And the Grand Hotel was holding a ball in their ballroom on the twelfth.

  Another poster announced the opening of the new dancing school for the miners to come and perfect their ballroom skills. The battle lines were drawn.

  The next week Amy was pulled into the middle of it all. She had heard Father Dyer was in town, no doubt to prepare for the revival. He was going to be surprised. Amy had been cataloging the buildings in town. Between the balls and the dancing classes, there wasn’t one building spacious enough for a revival meeting.

  She also knew that sooner or later Father Dyer would be in the post office, and she was prepared. Before that day came, Mr. Mayer made a special visit to the post office to inform Amy that she was to play with the band being brought up from Denver City.

  “A band from Denver City?” Amy exclaimed. “What’s wrong with the band from Buckskin Joe?”

  His expression was scornful. “That’s small time. I hear these fellows from Denver are good. We want the best for the ball.”

  He handed her the sheaf of music. “There will be a practice session.” He chuckled, “Those gals think they can outdo us. We’ll show them. After all, we have a better pianist.”

  She didn’t have time to be nervous before Father Dyer’s visit. When he came to the cage, she saw his measuring eye, but his first words totally disarmed her.

  “I need you to play the organ. Thank God there’s a clergyman’s daughter here who knows all the hymns. It’s a blessing that you play by ear.”

  His words had slipped past her, catching her off guard. As he waited she remembered the speech she had prepared for him. “Where are you going to have services? Haven’t you heard? The only place big enough is being used by the dancing school that has just started up.”

  He turned to go. “Don’t worry about that. Your landlady, Mrs. Tabor, has volunteered her parlor. If the crowd is too big, we’ll talk H.A.W. into letting us meet in the grocery store. Won’t be the first time I’ve preached with hams swinging around my head.”

  Feeling trapped, Amy could only stare at him. “I’ll count on you, Mrs. Gerrett.”

  Chapter 22

  Amy stood in front of her mirror, trying to twist her curly locks into the latest style. Augusta tapped on the open door. Amy turned. “Augusta, will you please help me? I’m trying to make one of those fancy double knots.”

  “Like that hussy Silverheels was wearing when she came into the store yesterday?” Augusta snorted, but she came to peer at Amy. “Your hair’s too curly. No, that can’t be the reason. Silverheels has hair just as curly as yours. But hers is faded-looking. I suppose in another year or so she’ll be smearing on the henna.”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “I—oh! Amy, I came to tell you there’s a gentleman waiting to see you in the parlor.”

  “Gentleman?” Amy laughed. “Are you talking about the old man with the whiskers who’s been following me around? He’s a miner.”

  “No, this is a young man. Looks more like a preacher than a miner. So, twist your hair up quick, and I’ll tell him you’ll be right down.”

  Amy turned back to the mirror and shook her head. “If I dared, I’d cut all this off; wouldn’t that shock Aunt Maude?” She rolled it into a soft knot and thrust in the pins before she started for the stairs.

  Halfway down she stopped. What’ll I do if one of those men from the hotel has come calling? She cringed, thinking of the implications. Married, but without a husband. It’s no wonder I have difficulty convincing people—men. I could get a reputation as bad as Silverheels’. Shaking her head, Amy ran down the last steps.

  At first glance the parlor seemed empty; then she turned slowly, and saw him closing the door behind her. Amy’s hand moved to the tiny white collar of her frock and then to the wad of hair.

  He gestured toward the rocking chair and she said, “I—my pins are falling out.” But she sat and he pulled a chair close.

  His brown eyes seemed distant, but they took in everything, from the new dark calico frock to the slipping hair. For a moment she was grateful
that she wasn’t wearing Augusta’s gray silk.

  “Amy—” he began.

  She interrupted, “Daniel, how did you find me?”

  “Does that matter?” His eyes continued to probe as he said, “I’ve business here in town and it didn’t seem fair to let you bump into me on the street.” While she tried to find something to say, he added, “You’ve changed. Grown up. Before, I guess I didn’t spend much time looking for changes.” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

  “Daniel—” She stopped. The necessary words would do nothing except hurt those brown eyes. She could see he was waiting out the silence and she must say something. “All that happened was so foolish. Please, just let’s forget about it, about—each other.” Now the words rushed out. “I just can’t be a preacher’s wife.”

  The frown deepened. “I’m not here to force you to come back. I’ll not put pressure on you of any kind. I want to know that you’re happy, and that you’re not needing anything.” He stretched out his hand and then pulled it back.

  That gesture hurt, and Amy spoke over the tightness in her throat. “I am happy.” She hesitated; now she couldn’t see his eyes in the dim room. Abruptly he got to his feet and wandered around the room with his hands in his pockets.

  Searching for something to say, she asked, “Why did you come?” Anything, Daniel—just say something. I feel so guilty—I suppose I should say I’m sorry.

  “John Dyer has asked me to help with revival services.” He hesitated a moment and then moved toward the door. “I hear he’s asked you to play the organ.” She nodded and he said, “I’d like that.” His voice sounded muffled as he spoke in a rush. “I hope we’ll get some time together while I’m here. We mustn’t have bad feelings over this.” His eyes were imploring.

  “Of course.” She kept her voice level. But at the door she touched his arm. “Are you well? You seem—thin.”