by Marian Wells
Chapter 25
John lumbered about the cabin, banging kettles and sloshing water. When he dragged the dishcloth across the table, Daniel straightened, sighed and rescued his Bible from John’s soggy cloth.
“I hear you, Brother John,” he said dryly. “You’ve been thumping around all morning.”
Father Dyer’s expression was guileless. “I wasn’t intending to interrupt you; it just seems to me that you ought to be up and taking nourishment. It’s your turn to preach tonight and I’ve a feeling you need all the strength you can get.”
“Amy?” Daniel asked, paused and shook his head. “She plays that organ oblivious to everything else. It’s as if she’s not hearing a thing that’s being said. I can’t figure it out.”
John dropped the cloth back into the dishpan. Sitting down to face Daniel, he folded his arms and waited. Daniel lifted his head again. “I suppose I’m pushing my will against God. Not content to wait. But, John, I’m fearful for what could happen to Amy, especially in a place like Buckskin Joe.”
“Remember Hosea. He took his wife back after she’d been living the life of a prostitute.”
Daniel winced and said, “Don’t talk that way.”
“Oh, son, I didn’t mean to imply your Amy is like that. I’m certain the Lord will protect her while we’re waiting to see His will accomplished. But people are willful.”
“John, how can I be so bold as to think He wants us together?”
“Don’t ask me. I’ve messed mine up; I can’t give out advice about another man’s marriage.” He paused and added. “You married her, and that’s a solemn covenant you two have made before God. Seems He doesn’t ignore any serious promises we make.”
In a moment, after studying the man’s face, Daniel said slowly, “You said ‘messed yours up.’ Is that why you aren’t married?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you about it some time; right now let’s get you on your feet. When I mentioned Amy was in Buckskin Joe, you had it all decided she was a poor little lonesome gal, just waiting to drop in your arms and surrender to Jesus, all in one fell swoop, didn’t you?”
“I suppose that was my dearest dream,” Daniel admitted, feeling his grin twist. “Why didn’t you tell me before that she was doing fine, that—”
“First off, I didn’t know about her piano playing. But then, our ways aren’t God’s ways. His are higher and past finding out. I thought you’d read it.”
“I have. I just didn’t think I’d have to prove it in my own life.”
“We all do at some point. It’s called testing our faith.” John fiddled with the pencil lying on the table; finally he looked at Daniel. “I wonder if I can try a thought on you.” When Daniel nodded, Dyer continued. “Well, it all started when I got to hearing so much criticism of our ways of revival. Some were saying revival doesn’t last. It’s a fact. Once the emotional pressure is off, people backslide. I’m inclined to agree. But, Daniel, we can’t quit revival either because of criticism or backsliding.
“With this in mind, I recently read an interesting statement by a fella I have a lot of respect for—name’s Charles Finney. He said something that made me sit up and think.” He paused and added, “This is one of those ideas to chew on for now. I’m not so certain there’s a need to start making changes, but here goes: Talking about revival, Finney said there’s never been a real reformation except by new measures. The key word here is reformation. Then he went on to say whenever the church gets settled into a rut—he called it a form of doing things—there’s trouble.
“People rely on the human. They hang on to a form of religion while they lose all the real substance. He said it becomes impossible to arouse these people to real soul-deep revival by pursuing the old established forms. Finney gave us hope, though; he said at this point God will bring in a new way to reach the people.”
Head down, Dyer played with the pencil. When he looked at Daniel he said, “I’ve been thinking about this the whole two weeks we’ve been here. Oh, don’t get me wrong. There’s been results and people have come, but it isn’t like it used to be. The ones that have tumbled at our altar aren’t the old hardened sinners in need of religion; they’re the repeaters. These are the fellas I’ve been preaching to ever since I came. I brought this up because of Amy.
“Seems the Lord’s got something in store that we can’t guess yet. Who knows what’s in her heart? Be patient, son, and don’t be surprised if the Lord doesn’t do something new and different.”
He got to his feet. “Daniel, I’m going over to the Tabors’ and then wander the streets and do a little talking to people. We’re down to the last few days, and I feel the pressure to see something happen.”
After the door closed behind John, Daniel continued to sit at the table, fingering the pencil and staring at the open Bible.
The words in front of him said: “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive….” Daniel saw Amy’s face and thought of the pleading he had done on his knees.
****
Amy bent over to lock the post office door. She heard the footsteps behind her and straightened as Father John Dyer stopped beside her. He looked from Amy to the napkin-covered dish he held, and his face brightened.
“Mrs. Tabor gave me some stew to carry up to Daniel. He hasn’t eaten anything today. I’ve things to do—would you?—”
“Hasn’t eaten?” Amy interrupted. “Is he ill?”
“No, but he will be if this keeps up. I need to walk down to the newspaper office—here.”
This time she heard him. Slowly taking the dish she said, “I suppose so. I have nothing to do until time to play the organ.”
He started down the street, saying, “There’s enough for two in there. Better bring the dish back with you. I’m afraid Daniel will forget.”
When she reached the cabin, Amy was still pondering the things Father Dyer had said about Daniel. Slowly she mounted the step and knocked. The door was wrenched open.
“Amy!” Daniel stood blinking.
She looked at the tired lines around his eyes. Slowly she said, “I hope I’m not bothering you. I met Father Dyer and he sent me up with this. Daniel, you hadn’t ought to go without eating.”
He stood aside to let her enter. “I would have come down—it was just that I’m finishing tonight’s sermon.”
“Then I am bothering you. I’ll go.”
“No, stay. I’ll share what’s in the pot and we can have that talk. I’ll be leaving soon and there seems no better time.”
He went to scoop the table clear and Amy awkwardly dropped her shawl on the bunk.
“John made coffee just before he left,” Daniel brought mugs to the table while Amy uncovered the bowl. He peered inside. “Looks good.” For a moment the brooding expression in his eyes lightened and he smiled at her. “You’re fortunate to have someone take such good care of you.”
“Especially since I’m a terrible cook.”
Now he was really looking at her. He asked, “You are? I wouldn’t have guessed that. But then, that’s one of those things that change with time, isn’t it?”
Unexpectedly Amy was blinking at tears. Daniel leaned across the table to touch his finger to one. “Why?”
“I—I’m not certain. It’s just that you seem so lonely and sad.” He turned away to get the coffee.
“Daniel, at times I’d give anything just to go back and do last summer over. I don’t like this. Do you suppose there’s someway we can settle it all without—”
“Either one of us having to give in?”
She chewed her lip, wishing she could recall the words that had brought them back to the same impossible spot.
Slowly she said, “I think we could have been happy together if it weren’t that you—”
“Amy, sit down and eat your dinner before it’s cold. Do you care for coffee? Did you see the bread Mrs. Tabor sent?”
She stared at him, unable to believe the easy, friendly smile. He might have been talking to Augusta herself.
She sat down. In silence they ate. While Amy’s throat tightened until she could scarcely swallow, Daniel seemed to be enjoying every bite.
At last Amy got up to wash the dishes. “No,” she protested as he reached for the towel. “Go back to your reading; there’s no need—” He was grinning down at her and suddenly she was defenseless. Frowning slightly, she looked up at him, wondering.
“So Dyer sent you here,” he said. “Did you two have any words of wisdom to share with me?”
“He didn’t say anything, except that you hadn’t eaten.”
“The fox.” He wiped silently and then stacked the dishes back on their shelf. “You should see my house.”
“Really all yours? Where?”
“California Gulch. Some say the camp will fold in another year; some expect a good strike. So far it’s a community of discouraged miners and a couple of women—wives,” he added hastily.
She grinned, “It must be a poor community if they don’t have a saloon and some dance-hall girls.”
“Oh, there’s a saloon, but the fellow is going broke. He’s taken to digging gold too. It’s pretty up there,” he added. “Just down the slope from my cabin there’s a patch of blue columbine, with lots of wild iris down along the creek. This fall the aspens were the prettiest gold I’ve ever seen.”
He stopped abruptly and she said, “The cabin?”
“I’m putting down a floor during my spare time. But I sure need window curtains. At least there’s a little stove. Gets cold up there—it’s higher than Central City.”
The sadness was back and Amy’s throat tightened. He turned to look at her, asking, “What about you? Where do you go from here?”
“I don’t know; I hadn’t thought.”
“Back east? Amy, I don’t have much money, but if it will help you get out of this place, I’ll give you every cent I have. I’d feel better about it all if you were back with family, playing in a respectable place, having a good life.”
He paused to sit down at the table and pull the Bible forward. Now his voice was low, hesitant as he said, “I suppose it’d be pretty easy to get a divorce back there. I won’t oppose you.” After a pause, his voice dropped even lower as he said, “This poor preacher sure can’t offer you as good a life—not like the one you seem to be making for yourself.”
“Daniel!” she cried. He looked at her. “Are you saying there’s someone else, someone you want to marry?”
“No, there’s no one.”
“You’ll let me go to Kansas alone, but you won’t come with me?” She went around the table to him. “I thought I heard you say you love me.”
“I do. More’n anything, I love you and want to be married to you. I—”
“Oh, Daniel, don’t look at me like that.” She threw her arms around his neck and buried his face against her.
He pulled her down to his lap and cupped her face in his hands. She didn’t try to hold back the tears now and he kissed them away.
When he stood up with her in his arms, she saw his face and tightened her arms around his neck. “Oh, Daniel, I really do love you, and I am your wife.” There was the sweetness of his smile and her heart began to pound.
“It is all right, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean, my precious wife?”
“You will come with me, won’t you—back east?”
Abruptly he released her and went to the window. With his back to her, he spoke and his voice was flat, “Amy, it’s late. I’ll walk you to your room. You’ll want to comb your hair before services begin.”
“Daniel?”
He turned, his voice was bitter. “You want to go back east and you’ll do anything to get there, including pretending to love me. Amy, I can’t be bought. I wasn’t trying to strike a bargain. And I understand you completely. If I go east, I get a sweet little wife, who gives out her favors as rewards.”
She looked at him a moment longer. She saw his lips tighten into a hard line. Scorn. She felt as if she were dying, beginning deep inside. I could take it, Daniel, except for the scorn. Think me cheap, selling cheap love, and there’s no place to go. Nothing left.
That night, after the service she fled upstairs. Two nights to go and then it will be over. Like all revivals, it will be forgotten. Tonight had made one thing clear. There would be two more days of having to face herself, knowing she could never back down from the decisions she was making.
Tonight Daniel talked about wanting God. He said we must run after God, be desperate for Him. Amy mulled over that picture and sighed, Desperate? Well, I’m desperate, but not for God. She thought of the things she wanted. Even the white church wasn’t as important as that craving hunger for the piano. One of these days I’ll have it. She smiled, thinking of the small pile of coins tucked in her money bag.
But every night Amy’s hands trembled on the organ keys as she played and sang: “All hail the power of Jesus’ name…. Oh, that with yonder sacred throng, We at His feet may fall…. And crown Him…crown Him Lord of all!”
There was something else to consider. In these last two days she had discovered it as she watched Daniel and listened to him. While he preached and avoided her eyes, she listened and admitted, If pain is love, I love him. It is agony to think I’ll never see him again. How do you stamp out love?
That night Daniel watched Amy leave the organ and walk slowly up the stairs. She moved as if each step took all her strength. He sighed and regarded the hard, numb spot inside. This must be what’s called the death of a dream. Nothing. He tried to feel comfortable for having made the only decision possible, but the word self-righteous continued to come into his mind. Daniel headed for the door, desperately needing fresh air.
With coat in hand, he hesitated. People clustered around the front door. Turning he charged through the dining room and out the kitchen door.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” Daniel reached for the figure he had slammed against the door. “I didn’t see you. Have I hurt you?”
Now he could see the woman’s face, a pale circle in the moonlight. She shook her head, slowly saying, “You’re the preacher, aren’t you?”
The moonlight turned her face to a white mask, revealing the yearning on it. Gently he asked, “Why don’t you come in?” She paused and shook her head.
“It’s too late for that, years and years too late.”
He had nearly brushed her off. Now he stopped. The voice was familiar and even more so, the pile of light curls above her forehead. “Did you want to see me?”
He heard her catch her breath. “I—oh no. Just curious. I came to see Mrs. Thomas and lingered on to listen.” She hesitated and he peered into her face. “You were talking about God loving and forgiving if people would just ask. I’m wondering. That doesn’t always apply, does it? I mean …” She hesitated again. “I’ve heard about the unpardonable sin and such.”
“If you hunger for God, then it’s a pretty good indication He’s standing ready to accept you. Silverheels, He’ll never fail to forgive. Just ask.”
For a moment longer he saw the hunger. Then she sighed and straightened her shoulders. Her smile was mocking. “That’d be a feather in your cap, wouldn’t it? Silverheels, the madame. Sorry. Some things are impossible.” She turned and clattered down the steps, with her bright slippers flashing in the moonlight.
Chapter 26
The storm moved in during the night. It was the first heavy snow of the season, and it made a miracle out of the wounded mining site called Buckskin Joe. Amy awoke to find an icy trickle of white drifting across her bed.
She burrowed deeper in her pile of blankets while she examined the rim of frost lining the crack between the logs.
Her window was a seashell, gleaming first pink and then gold with the sunrise. Unsuccessfully Amy tried to pull her aching nose under the blankets while still viewing that gilded world.
Later that morning, as she trudged through drifts toward the post office, she saw the changes. Log cabins wore towering top hats of white. The stamp mill, moving sluggishly, pounded loose cascades of snow, while the river stacked up slushy waves along the bank.
Amy’s mittened hand had just maneuvered the key into the lock when H.A.W. Tabor came out of his store and hailed her. “No need to waste wood heating the post office today. The stage won’t be through, and I doubt a customer will sail forth on a day like this. Go home and keep warm.”
Amy looked around at the unblemished blanket of snow on the road. “Oh, what a shame to stay indoors. It’s beautiful! If you’re wanting to save wood though, I’ll just take the day to plow around through it.”
“Be careful where you walk. Stay on the trails so you don’t fall down a mine shaft.”
Amy fluttered a mittened hand at him and wound the shawl another turn around her shoulders. The sun, in mid-sky now, had turned the pristine snow into a thousand flashing diamonds.
Mound upon rolling mound beckoned, and Amy tried to climb them all. She passed the last cabin in Buckskin Joe and waded through the snow along the banks of the river.
Just below the waterfall she discovered the graceful branches of the willows had been encrusted with gleaming crystal. On down, away from the frozen waves, the water had taken on an intense blue, a second sky reflected against the snow below.
Above the waterfall the mountain began, and Amy began the ascent. When she stopped to rest, she looked backward toward Buckskin Joe and caught her breath at the sparkling white landscape.
There was a shout behind her—no, up and beyond. A sound distorted by distance and brittle air. She shaded her eyes and saw the dark mark against the white. It was a man striding down the side of the mountain as if he possessed wings for feet.
As his great strides brought him close, Amy could hear him clearly.
See on the mountain top
The Standard of your God: