Colorado Gold

by Marian Wells

  In Jesus’ name it is lifted up,

  All stained with hallowed blood.

  Happy, if, with my latest breath,

  I may but gasp his name;

  Preach him to all, and cry in death,

  Behold, behold the Lamb!

  It was Father Dyer, and his giant strides were bringing him down beside her. She studied the contraptions on his feet, nearly ready to tease until she saw his face.

  When he stopped beside her, she spoke in a whisper, “Father Dyer—your face looks as if you’ve been rubbing it in sunshine!”

  “Aye,” he said slowly. Even then the glow was fading. “It is Son shine. I must do that every day or the light will go out.” He looked at her, explaining. “Jesus Christ. You know He’s created this beauty to remind you of eternity. The everlasting, unending eternity of being with Him.”

  He paused and thoughtfully studied her face. “A young lady like you should know the joy of rubbing shoulders with Jesus Christ.”

  She moved her head impatiently. “Father, you tease.”

  “No, I only try to say the unsayable in little bites of understanding. Do you know Romans 8:37? ‘Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors.’ I am rejoicing in the conqueror attitude today. There’s not one thing in our life that He won’t give us the ability to overcome.”

  His voice softened as he quoted, “‘For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ That’s the other two verses.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I think there’s something you need to overcome.” They started back toward Buckskin Joe together.

  Amy was silent until the pain became too great. “Father Dyer,” she said carefully, trying for the amusing touch, “you would not quote that verse so easily if you lived with the ghosts of the past.”

  “You assume I don’t. Come, my child, and I’ll tell you the story of my past. I married young, had five beautiful children and then my sweetheart wife died very suddenly, and shortly thereafter our little daughter died.

  “With four children to raise I needed a wife, and I soon found one. At the time, Amy, I was a prosperous man, with money in the bank and good land with a clear title. Before long, that pretty-faced woman showed her true colors.

  “Not only was I left penniless, but I also discovered I was third in line in her affections.” Amy frowned and Father Dyer explained. “She hadn’t bothered to divorce her first two husbands.”

  Amy fumbled for a reply. Father Dyer said, “People hurt each other; that’s the ugly part of being human. But there’s something even more ugly—not being able to forgive.”

  Her smile was full of pain. “Father Dyer, I’m sorry that you’ve been—”

  He cut in, “You may find it hard to understand what I’m really saying, and I don’t know why I told you this. There’re few who know my story.”

  Amy looked at the ground as she said, “If you think it’s about Daniel and me, well—”

  “No,” he answered gently, “I haven’t probed, and I won’t. Yesterday was only impulse. I wanted you two together just on the chance you might be able to clear the matter between you.”

  “It didn’t work, and it won’t.”

  “Well, let’s go before you take cold. I can see your feet are wet.”

  When they rounded the last hill, they were back on the trail to Buckskin Joe. Before them stood Father Dyer’s cabin.

  As they walked around the cabin, he looked at her wet feet. “Do you want to—” They both stopped. A woman in a flowing black cloak turned.

  “Silverheels!” Amy gasped, looking from the woman to Daniel standing in the doorway. Their faces were sober.

  With a sigh of relief, Silverheels came to Amy. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s Lizzie. She’s—”

  “I just knew something was terribly wrong!” Amy cried, reaching for the woman’s velvet cloak. “Please, what is it?”

  “She’s very ill,” Daniel spoke up. With a quick glance at Silverheels he stepped between them. “Amy, it’s possible she won’t live. I’ll go with you, unless you’d rather have John.”

  “But why—” She stopped and looked at their faces. “I’ve never had something like this happen—Daniel, please come.”

  Silverheels led the way, walking rapidly down the road. The snow was now scarred by feet and split by deep brown furrows—a scene that stamped itself on Amy’s mind: the ugly marks man had made.

  Quickly they crossed the meadow. When they reached the boardinghouse, Silverheels veered away from the front door. Daniel and Amy followed her around the sprawling building and into the trees behind. There was a tiny log cabin nearly hidden in the trees and underbrush.

  Amy saw smoke puffing from the chimney. Silverheels walked in ahead of them and spoke to the woman bending over the cot. “Mattie, you may go now and rest. Get some dinner and I’ll come after you later.”

  The face tossing against the pillows was flushed. Amy watched, unable to believe this creature was the Lizzie she knew.

  Silverheels looked at Amy. “She asked for you. Don’t just stand there.”

  The tossing figure on the bed quieted and she opened her eyes. “Amy?”

  “Lizzie, I’m here. What’s happened, why—”

  The cold voice came from behind Amy. “She tried to get rid of the baby. I told her no—it’s always better to wait it out. But she was impatient—had to get on with life.”

  Over the click of her heels Silverheels said, “I’ll be back later.”

  Daniel moved to the other side of the cot. Amy said, “Lizzie, this is—my husband, Daniel.”

  For a moment her eyes were clear. “So there really is a Mr. Gerrett. I’ve been wondering how could a married lady be so dumb about life. She—” Her eyes closed.

  Timidly Amy reached for her hand. “Daniel, she’s so hot!”

  The minutes passed and Lizzie opened her eyes. Now Amy understood how weak she was. Lizzie whispered, “Amy, sing.”

  “Shall I sing Camptown Races?”

  She shook her head slowly and whispered, “Hymns. About the blood.”

  “Blood?” Amy questioned. She started to protest, but Daniel’s eyes were holding her. Settling back on her heels beside the bed, Amy began to sing softly, “What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus…. For my pardon this I see, nothing but the blood of Jesus. For my cleansing this my plea, nothing but the blood of Jesus. Oh, precious is the flow that makes me white as snow …”

  Lizzie opened her eyes again, tried to raise herself as she looked at Daniel. “I wish—I could undo life.” She tried to smile. “Guess it’s too late, isn’t it? But oh, God, how scared I am!”

  She looked at Amy. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I used to be a nice girl like you. The religion didn’t take too well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  There was a slight shrug and Lizzie’s hand touched her flushed face. “I wanted excitement.”

  Daniel leaned over the bed. “Lizzie, it isn’t too late. His atonement is still good for you. The blood will wash—”

  “I’m scared. I never thought hard enough about what I was doing. It’s too late.” The tears crept from under her eyelids and she seemed to doze.

  Abruptly Lizzie was shaking her head. “I’d be lower than a snake to run asking now. I chose—”

  Amy gasped, “Lizzie! you’d let your pride keep you from asking for forgiveness—mercy?” Daniel was watching her. She backed away.

  Daniel murmured, “Lizzie, don’t play games. You made a mistake once; don’t do it again in the name of pride.” He settled down beside her and said, “The words of that song are for every one of us. We all must come to Jesus and ask for His forgiveness. You see, He’s God, come to this earth to die for our sins. By believing this, y
ou have the privilege of being called a child of God.”

  She turned her head slowly on the pillow. “It’s too late. I had my chance, now—”

  “It isn’t. It is never too late to say you’re sorry, that you want to accept the atonement sacrifice for your own sins.” Her eyes were open. Amy saw the expression and turned away. Behind her Daniel was still talking, bending over the girl.

  Amy went to stand by the door. That terror on Lizzie’s face. She was still shivering when Silverheels came in. Glancing at Lizzie and Daniel before turning to Amy, she said, “You’re cold and wet. Go home now, before you catch something.”

  When Amy shrugged, Silverheels spoke more sharply. “You can’t go out in that shawl; it’s wet.” She pulled the shawl from Amy and dropped it to the floor.

  Before Amy could protest, Silverheels slipped out of the black velvet cloak she was wearing and threw it around Amy’s shoulders. “There. It’s a little long, but it’ll do. Now go.”

  The black velvet smelled of Silverheels’ perfume. Amy stared up at her, tongue-tied, confused. Unexpectedly, the woman kissed Amy on the cheek. “Now, go. Drink something hot and get into bed or you’ll be ill.”

  Numb with fatigue, Amy obeyed. When she reached the Tabors’, Augusta brought heated stones and hot tea. While Amy pulled her nightgown over her head, Augusta hung the black velvet cloak to dry.

  “Beautiful—and costly. Just like you’d expect a woman of Silverheels’ reputation to have. But she was generous—I’d not expect that of her. It’s a little wet around the hem, that’ll dry soon. Now get some sleep. You’ve got to play the organ tonight. We can’t get along without you.”

  Those final words greeted Amy when she awakened, recalling her to the duty of the evening. As she rolled over, she saw the black cloak hanging on the back of the door.

  Slowly she pulled herself out of bed and dressed. Although she selected the dark calico designed for revival meetings, her thoughts weren’t on the evening service. She was thinking of Lizzie—weak, flushed, and crying as Daniel prayed.

  When Amy left the organ to sit with the others clustered in tight rows across Augusta’s parlor, Father Dyer stood to preach, while Amy’s thoughts were fleeing back to Lizzie.

  He began his sermon, but Amy found herself unable to escape the memory of Lizzie. She’s caught. Like a butterfly in a net, trapped. She’s no longer free to choose how she will live. Lizzie can no longer choose life.

  When he opened his Bible, John Dyer looked at Amy and said, “Take hold of life. Life is there, waiting for us. But we claim our rightful heritage only through Jesus Christ. The Apostle Paul’s letter to the Philippians uses the word ‘apprehended.’ He is saying he takes hold of life for the same purpose that Jesus Christ took hold of him. Are you aware of God’s design for your life? Take hold of life.”

  Amy lost the thread of Father Dyer’s message. Again thinking of Lizzie, she felt a moment of bitterness. But Lizzie chose; at some point she chose. Was it Daniel who said we must live with our decisions? She shivered.

  When she looked up, it was time to play the organ. The evening was gone. It took all the discipline Amy could muster to touch those keys and sing with her leaden heart, “Almost persuaded, harvest is past…. Almost cannot avail…. Sad sad …”

  As she fled toward the stairs, she met Daniel. With his hand on her arm and bending down to look into her face, he said, “Lizzie has gone to be with her Savior. Just after you left, she slipped into a coma.”

  “What makes you think she’s gone to heaven?”

  His expression was strange. “I would have expected you to guess. She was coming home, back to Him. A prodigal daughter. Amy, no matter what the sin, if we ask, He will take us back.”

  His hand was still upon her and he must have felt her trembling. They both waited, then Daniel dropped his hand and turned away.

  “Amy.” As she hesitated on the stairs, he came up to her. His eyes were on a level with hers as he said, “I’m leaving tomorrow. But Amy, I’ll be back. I can’t leave without your knowing that. I’ll pray for you.”

  Still feeling the pressure, Amy protested, “Pray that I will change my mind and stay? Daniel, I want only—” She stopped and for a moment her heart yearned after him. She nearly said love, but she reminded herself; then I will have lost it all.

  “Amy”—his hand rested on her arm—”I’m not talking about that. There’s only one thing I have in mind. It’s your relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ. Amy, you need Him, and that’s my dearest desire.”

  She looked down the stairs to the ring of faces watching, while the disappointment welled up in her heart.

  Chapter 27

  The revival was over. Like a stone pulled from a fast-moving stream, leaving only silty depression and a placid surface, life in Buckskin Joe smoothed out now that the impediment was gone. Amy felt the difference in herself and saw her relief mirrored on the faces around her.

  But there was one difference. In her life the hole was still there, and the silt trickled slowly—too slowly to hide the pain she felt. But then, the others in Buckskin Joe weren’t as attached to the lanky evangelist with the brown eyes.

  Within a week the snow came again. The wind howled, and drifts piled up, raking the meadow bare and stacking the snow against the cabins until sometimes only chimneys were visible.

  Those miners who hadn’t fled to a lower altitude found themselves without occupation. The stamp mill ceased its monotonous pounding, and Buckskin Joe was held in a quietness that amplified the braying of the jacks and the muffled gurgle of the waterfall.

  The miners moved from saloon to home and back again, wallowing through the drifts as if the snow itself must be challenged.

  Shortly after Daniel’s departure, Father Dyer also left, snowshoeing over the mountains to minister to another flock in another mining camp.

  That week of the storm, while Buckskin Joe was digging out and life was restricted to the necessary, Amy once again considered the black velvet cloak hanging from the tallest hook in her bedroom.

  Just having it in the room brought back dreadful memories of the day Silverheels had wrapped it around her. She could still see Lizzie’s flushed, pain-filled face even though the picture was overlapped with the memory of that bleak caravan winding down to the rocky, snow-swept cemetery.

  Amy recalled the things Father Dyer had said at the graveside. As he spoke his face had turned from one to the other of the flower-bright girls. And Amy had watched them shed his words, like delicate blossoms repelling spring showers.

  But Amy had left that place feeling his words heavy against her heart. Father Dyer had talked about the prostitutes Jesus had encountered, and how His word to them had changed their lives even as He forgave their sins.

  As Amy turned to go, Father Dyer lifted his hand and quoted Jesus’ words. Crystal Thomas was standing there, her dusky skin glowing and her lips moving as she quoted the words along with him. “‘I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:…believest thou this?’”

  Changed. That was Daniel’s word, and it made her think of his sermon. Some of the words still bounced around in her thoughts: How much more shall…the blood of Christ purge…to serve the living God?

  In his sermon he had talked about this kind of change. He called it being redeemed, not only for eternity but for now. And for a moment, she hoped.

  The cloak continued to hang in Amy’s room. Finally Augusta spurred Amy to action. On the day that the sun came out, warming and cheering all of Buckskin Joe, she peered around the doorpost at Amy. Nodding at the cloak hanging there she said, “Might as well take that back. You wear it and people’ll line you up with Silverheels. Don’t wear it, and she’ll want it back.”

  “I’d better,” Amy said with a sigh. “As long as the stages aren’t running, I can’t work at the post office; there’s no want of me at the Grand Hotel. I might as well go up there.”

  Augusta left and Am
y set aside her mending. She went to lift the cloak down from its hook. Most certainly it was too long for her. “Best be rid of it,” she murmured, shuddering.

  But just one more time she wanted to feel its luxury against her face. Amy slipped it around her shoulders and tried to see her reflection as she turned in front of her scrap of a mirror.

  Silverheels’ perfume still clung to the cloak. But all Amy’s turning merited her nothing; the mirror simply wasn’t large enough. With a sigh, Amy pushed her hands deep into the pockets as she turned away. A piece of paper cracked beneath her fingers.

  Slowly Amy pulled out the paper and turned it over. It seemed to be a portion of a very old envelope, and it was folded over an oval object. Jewelry? Amy’s curiosity prodded her to unfold the paper, even while her conscience stung.

  There was writing on the envelope, but Amy’s fingers were intent on lifting out the oval. Not jewelry; just a dim old photograph set in an ornate frame.

  She carried the photograph to the window and held it up. With a gasp, she bent closer. Surely not another coincidence! As she fingered it, she realized a second glance wasn’t necessary. The photograph was identical to the one Father had on his dresser!

  Slowly she picked up the envelope and smoothed out the paper. The first words stated: Property of—the name was spread across the paper—Amelia Randolph. Amy’s heart thumped until her whole body trembled. She sat down and tried to calm herself. When she picked up the envelope to study the curiously rounded letters, she remembered something else. Crystal, that woman Augusta hired, had referred to Silverheels as Amelia.

  Studying the round bold signature, Amy murmured, “I’m nearly certain that this is the very writing I saw on the envelope in Father’s trunk.”

  She tried to persuade herself, murmuring, “The name’s common.” But that writing, those rounded letters, they were uncommon. Amy picked up the photograph again. She recognized the dress. Even though the picture was dim, she could see the tucking, the rose embroidery. “It’s blue with pink roses,” Amy murmured. “I know; the dress is at home in the trunk, next to the letter with this same curious, rounded writing.”