Colorado Gold

by Marian Wells

  Amy paced the room. “I’m certain this is a copy of the photograph Father has. I’ve seen it often enough. This is a photograph of me when I was just three.”

  Clutching the oval, she went to sit on the bed, staring down at the object. She was finding it difficult to think clearly, but facts couldn’t be denied.

  Finally she got up. Moving quickly before she could change her mind, Amy gathered up the cloak, thrust the paper and photograph back into the pocket, and ran downstairs.

  “Augusta, may I borrow your old coat while I return this cloak and pick up my shawl?” Augusta looked up from the pie crusts she was rolling and nodded.

  Plunging through the snow to the road and on to the meadow, Amy nearly lost her courage. But the paper crackled in her hand. She began to walk faster.

  By the time she reached the front door of the boardinghouse, Amy’s heart was thumping with gladness, and all the questions were being shoved to the back of her mind.

  Running into the hall, Amy tapped on Silverheels’ door. There was no answer. As she hesitated, disappointed and trembling, Amy heard the stairs creak.

  She ran to the stairwell and stopped. It was Silverheels. Amy clung to the bannister, waiting breathlessly. It was too much, too unbelievable.

  Silverheels stopped on the stairs. Her pale face was tilted, unaware of Amy. She seemed to be listening as she lingered on the steps. Watching, Amy decided she must have just awakened. There was a strange dazed expression on her face.

  Amy wanted to fly up the steps, but her trembling legs kept her there, waiting. There was a softness on Silverheels’ troubled face. A mother look. Amy blinked at the tears in her eyes as the woman slowly, hesitantly, walked down the stairs.

  When she reached the landing, Amy’s questions were settled. It didn’t matter what she was; this woman was her mother—only that was important.

  She clung to the railing for support as she whispered, “You really are my mother. I know you now. So long ago. I was tiny, but I remember.”

  She saw Silverheels’ ashen face clearly for just one moment before her tears veiled it. “Mother, oh, Mother! Did you know they told me you were dead?”

  Amy could smell Silverheels’ perfume. Blind from her tears, she reached and the woman’s arms closed around her.

  When Amy could control her sobbing, Silverheels led her down the hall to her room. Once the door was closed, they faced each other. Silverheels examined Amy’s tear-streaked face. For a moment her voice broke and then became firm as she said, “Amy, you are my dear little girl, but you are forgetting—”

  Amy shook her head. “Let’s not talk about that. Please, just tell me what happened and why.”

  The woman stiffened. Leading the way to the round pink couch, she patted the cushions in place and slowly said, “I’m stunned. Of course I’d guessed, but never did I dream that you would. How—”

  Amy placed the photograph on Silverheels’ knee. “It was in the pocket of the cloak you gave me to wear.”

  “Oh, how careless. I’d been going through things.”

  “You mean you wouldn’t have told me?”

  “Amy, I didn’t think you’d accept me.”

  Amy pressed her fingers against her eyes. “But you are my mother, and that means everything. I—I guess I can’t understand, but now that I’ve found you, I don’t intend to leave you ever.”

  After a long silence, Silverheels asked, “What about your husband?”

  “That’s not working out.”

  There was a twisted bitter smile on Silverheels’ face, “What will your father say?” Amy stared at her. The smile was like a hand pushing them apart. Amy felt it and fought.

  Moving quickly she pressed her head against the soft shoulder and felt only resistance. But after a moment their arms went around each other and Amy sobbed, “Oh, Mother, I can scarcely believe this. Why did Father tell me you were dead? Why—” She bent over, crying uncontrollably.

  “Hush, my dear.” Soft fingers pressed against Amy’s lips and then, with a quiet moan, Silverheels lifted Amy’s face with both hands. “If only you knew—”

  Abruptly she stopped and pushed Amy away from her. Jumping to her feet, she paced the floor in quick, hard steps, stopping frequently to press her hands together, to wheel and come back. Amy mopped her eyes, crying softly.

  Silverheels knelt in front of Amy, pressing a fresh handkerchief into her hands, “There, don’t carry on so.”

  Amy wiped her eyes and sat up. Silverheels’ smile was sunny and tender as she said, “We’re big girls now, and we don’t cry.”

  Then she frowned again, got to her feet, and paced the floor. Amy watched the quick, hard steps.

  Coming back to her, Silverheels said, “Of course, my dear, it is unthinkable for you to remain. I have my career.” The words were clipped and she gave her twisted smile again. “I’m certain your father will drive me out of town if he were to find out that—”

  Amy exclaimed sharply, “Do you mean that—” she couldn’t continue, but Silverheels nodded with a faint, sad smile. Slowly Amy said, “I didn’t dream Father would be like that.” She looked up and said, “And having found you, I’ll never leave you.”

  Silverheels slumped down on the couch with her head cradled on her arm. In a moment she sat up, sighing, “You don’t understand. You’re grown; you don’t need me. I’ve made my life and I know you won’t understand this, but I forbid you to waste yourself on me.”

  She lifted her hand to stop Amy’s protest, and continued, her voice growing stronger with each word, “I not only want you to deny that I’m your mother, but I want you to leave Buckskin Joe. Go, forever.”

  The soft note in Silverheels’ voice was gone, and as Amy watched, her mother’s face hardened. “I want you to catch the next stage and go home. Don’t ever mention my name again.”

  Shaking her head in confusion, Amy pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples and caught her breath. “Leave when I’ve just found you? That’s impossible. Mother, how can you—”

  Silverheels jumped to her feet and walked to the door. For a moment she stood with her back to Amy. When she whirled around, her face was contorted into ugliness. “It is unfortunate you bumbled into this whole affair, but now I must tell you. Amy, I left because I wanted to. I wanted my freedom more than I wanted my daughter. That hasn’t changed.

  “I despise all that you stand for. You, your father, and your husband. Get out of my life.”

  “Mother,” Amy pleaded, “you’re judging me by their narrowness; please—I intend to be my own person, too. Doesn’t that matter?”

  “Let you stay and be the nice little self-sacrificing missionary? I don’t convert. Can’t you understand? I’m trying to be kind to you. Amy, I’m a prostitute. I’ll drag you down with me.

  “Amy, go!” She gave a hoarse, choked laugh. “I’ll never acknowledge you as my child. It would ruin me to admit to a grown woman as my daughter. Forget about this. And don’t tell your father you’ve found me. Do you understand? I don’t want him whining at my door.” She ran to the dresser. Coming back she pushed a handful of coins into Amy’s hand. “Here; it’s gold—enough to get you home. I’m buying my freedom once again.”

  She had her hand on Amy’s shoulder, moving her toward the hall. With a sharp jerk Amy whirled away, slashing out with her hands.

  Silverheels caught and flung Amy onto the couch. “Amy, stop it! You’re being a good little missionary, but I’ll tell you something. Given the opportunity, you’d be just like your mother. I saw the way your eyes sparkled when you came here looking at the gals and their fellows. I saw you eyeing the pretty clothes and my jewelry. I could see you nearly green with envy over it all.

  “And I’ll tell you something else. My passion is dancing; yours is the piano. But does it matter what it is? You’ll sell your soul for the piano, just as I sold mine for the dance. See, I know how Aunt Maude feels about pianos.” She leaned close to whisper, “Amy, down underneath, we’re alike
, and you can’t escape it.” She paused, forced her voice between clenched teeth, and hissed out the words, “Now go. I don’t want to see you again ever. Get out of Buckskin Joe before I scratch your eyes out.”

  Suddenly Mattie appeared. “Yer shawl is here. She had me wash it for you.” There was a man behind her. He came into the room with a lifted eyebrow and a grin.

  “Theodore,” Silverheels murmured. “Please—until this evening. I’ll see you then. This is important.”

  “A new one, huh? Pretty.” He chuckled and touched Amy’s hair. “Nearly as pretty as yours.”

  Amy turned away. She was fighting the cold, sick anger welling up inside. Behind her, she heard the murmuring, the soft laughter, and the closing door.

  While she waited, Amy picked up one of the china dolls from the table.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Silverheels’ brittle voice was behind her. “Just what every little girl dreams about. One of my lovers gave it to me. Take it to remember me.”

  “There’s the cloak,” Amy pointed.

  “I intended you to have it. Amy, I’d like to give you a nice heavy wrap if you don’t care for the cloak. I can well afford it.”

  Amy’s emotions had flattened, and she discovered that she could speak with indifference, overlooking the arrogant statement. “It isn’t necessary. I need nothing more than I have.”

  She faced Silverheels, waiting and wondering.

  “What is it, my dear?” The mocking voice shredded into pieces those precious early minutes. Amy accepted the cold, final separation. She looked around the room, seeing the luxury. A kind of deadness began taking over the new warmth.

  “I was just thinking—not very many girls have their mothers die twice.” She looped the shawl over her arm.

  Silverheels’ eyes were shadowed, but the smile on her face taunted Amy as she turned to go. She called, “Don’t forget your dolly.”

  Amy turned and picked up the doll. The cold spot in her heart disappeared. She looked down at the doll. “When I was little I looked at dolls like this. They always belonged to the other children. I would have given anything to have had—” She paused, the rush of anger leaving her breathless.

  One more second she stared at the beautiful, porcelain face; then Amy threw the doll with all her might, arrow straight, at Silverheels’ mocking smile.

  Chapter 28

  “You’re lucky, young lady. Bad storm for November. A week ago the stage wouldn’t have been able to make it up the canyon from Denver. One thing about Colorado Territory, you can’t take the weather too seriously. Winter one day, spring the next.”

  The driver dropped Amy’s valise on the boardwalk in front of Joe’s store and lifted his hand. “Here ya are, Central City, it is.”

  Amy stepped gingerly through the mud and followed the driver into the store. Joe grinned at her. “Well, Miss Amy! I heard you got married. If you’ve come to visit, you should have written first. Your pa’s off in Denver City to a church meeting.”

  “Denver!” Amy gasped. “I’ve just come from there. I didn’t know.” She sighed and thought of her dwindling funds.

  Joe said, “If you want, I’ll carry your bag to the house for you. Need any groceries?”

  Amy nodded and went to select flour and eggs. “That should do for now.” Handing him the coins she added, “The town’s changed. So many new places built up. Coming from Mountain City I couldn’t tell when we reached Central City.”

  Joe nodded and went after the valise. “Some are saying it’ll be all one big city in another year or so. Used to be that you could spot Gregory’s diggings right off; now the whole place is one big diggings, and more fellows are coming every day. Me? I think I’m getting rich quicker than most the diggers.”

  They reached the cabin and Joe waited until Amy found the key and opened the door. Dropping the valise, he shook his head over the coin she offered and left.

  After her initial disappointment, Amy began to realize that solitude was a soothing hand, straightening out the roughness of her life, softening the memory of Silverheels’ last words.

  Shaking her head over her father’s absent-minded housekeeping, Amy rolled up her sleeves and threw her sore heart into making order of the shambles in the cabin.

  She finished housekeeping, but Eli hadn’t returned. Amy mended the frayed window curtain, still brooding over the painful memories of Silverheels’ rejection.

  As Amy sewed, she remembered Daniel mentioned needing curtains for his windows. She sighed over him as she tried to remember all he had told her about his house and the meadow with the columbine and wild iris.

  Later she rummaged through a box and found the curtain that had hung in front of Aunt Maude’s bunk. “Just big enough. I’ll make curtains for Daniel.” Trying to avoid thinking about him, Amy measured off a length, muttering, “Knowing what I do about the mining camps, I guess Daniel’s windows will be the standard, ready-framed ones, just like these.” She got the scissors and began cutting.

  When the last hem had been stitched, she used Aunt Maude’s embroidery floss to add a touch of color to the curtains. And then she folded them away. “Silly,” she chided herself. “Making curtains for Daniel, and you’ll likely never see him again.”

  After finishing the curtains, she climbed the well-remembered hill to Clara Brown’s little cabin. Amy cocked her head and smiled. Most certainly Aunt Clara was at home; the dear little cabin nearly vibrated with her singing.

  Aunt Clara hugged Amy and held her off to study her. “Land child, skin and bones, you are. Looks like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders. Did you come to tell Aunt Clara about it?” She shoved a stool forward, poured coffee for Amy, and then returned to her ironing.

  “Where’s Barney Ford?”

  “Got himself a claim over the ridge. He keeps so busy I don’t see much of him anymore. Comes over for church sometimes.”

  Amy sipped coffee and murmured, “It’s good to be back. I suppose you know Father is in Denver.”

  Clara nodded as she swished her iron briskly over a white shirt. Slanting a mischievous glance at Amy, she said, “This here is Lucas Tristram’s shirt. Wanna deliver it for me?”

  Amy’s eyes widened, and Aunt Clara hastily said, “Jest joking with you.” She chuckled silently and her whole round frame shook. Rubbing a palm over her eyes, she grinned at Amy, saying, “I never expected that turn of events. Right out from under Tristram’s nose. That’s what he gets for being too uppity for camp meeting. Shore ’fraid you were going to hitch up your wagon to that fella’s, and I was prayin’ nearly night and day that God would break it up.

  “Didn’t know He’d supply the need so abrupt-like, though. Now, that Daniel Gerrett is about the best young man around.” Her iron slowed. In the silence, she asked, “Child, you happy and pregnant?”

  “Neither,” Amy said slowly, pushing her mug round the table. “Daniel and I can’t agree on anything.”

  “Like your piano playing?”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Think those dance-hall girls could keep anything like that under their hat? Pretty good joke, the preacher’s young’un sneaking off to play the piano honky-tonk when her pa’s not looking. Guess everyone in town knew except Aunt Maude.”

  Amy winced. “Father?”

  “Oh, sure.” Her keen eyes were studying Amy. “Takes a mite of growing up before a young’un can appreciate older folks, ’specially if she’s related to ’em.”

  Amy continued to study the burned mark on the table. “But you talk about Lucas like you haven’t heard any gossip concerning him.”

  Aunt Clara picked up the iron. She studied Amy. “I don’t know what you’re referring to. There’s always a little rumbling on about him, but—”

  “Then it’s obvious it’s been hushed up.”

  “Child, did he mistreat you?”

  Amy grinned. “No, why? Was he roughed up?”

  Aunt Clara slowly shook her head, saying, “I see I
ain’t going to get anything outta you. That’s fine. I’m happy the way it all ended.” In a moment Aunt Clara said, “Seems you have a mite on your mind. I don’t have anything to do except iron and listen.”

  Those bruising words just like your mother were lying hard against Amy’s heart. Of all that happened that afternoon at Silverheels’ house, they alone had the power to keep her trembling in the quiet times.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try some of the ideas on Aunt Clara. She, more than anyone, would listen and understand.

  Amy took a deep breath and began. “Do you think just because a person’s father was a horse thief that his children are bound to follow in his footsteps?”

  “‘Course not. Bound? No. But he might take a liking to thieving if he doesn’t know better.”

  “Then you think a person can better himself by trying?”

  She nodded and her iron slowed again. “Git the feeling I’m walking myself into a trap. Amy, child, the only way you can learn to wash your face of a morning is by practice. You earn your living by doing a job better’n the fella standing behind you waitin’ for you to fail. You do and do and do, but that’s not going to count a penny’s worth with God unless you’re doing it the right way. Was that the trap you was backing me into?”

  “Aunt Clara, I wasn’t backing you anywhere. I am just trying to understand—life.”

  “God?” Aunt Clara said. Amy thought about that for a time; then she nodded. Aunt Clara looked at Amy in a way that seemed to pierce far too deep. She pushed the iron back and forth. “You gotta want God more’n anything else in this whole world. Anything less’n that won’t work, ’cause in a tight place, you’ll toss it all out. There’s a kind of religion that gets you to sign your name on the dotted line, and then it’s all forgot about. That’s not the way it has to be.”

  She pushed the iron again and Amy thought she had forgotten her until Aunt Clara placed the iron on the stove and turned. With hands on her hips, she said soberly, “Seems more often than not, God has to let a body get in a tight spot before he sees he wasn’t made to handle life without the Lord’s help.”