by Marian Wells
“Tell me.”
“She’s saying that being a Christian calls for change. More than that. She said surrender to God makes you become all new—in what you hold dear and how you live out your life. She said it’s called being reconciled to God, brought back to the relationship He’d wanted to have with Adam and Eve.
“Then Aunt Clara said something about being a new creature. She quoted verses from John where Jesus was talking to Nicodemus. About being born of the Spirit—being born again.” She added, “And what about all those other things in the Bible?”
“You mean the things He tells us we’ll do if we are obedient? In the book of First John we find that if we keep His word, the love of God is perfected in us, and it proves we are really His. The reverse is true. If we hate, we are walking in darkness. No matter how much we say we’re Christian, we’re going to have to prove it by our actions.”
His brooding voice seemed to cut her out as he said, “Even more than that, our very secret, inner cravings tell on us. Sooner or later, they reveal whether or not we belong to Jesus Christ.”
Amy found she couldn’t interrupt that sad monologue. She drew her shawl close, shutting out the sight of his face and the fearful words.
First Aunt Clara, now Father. It was starting to seem as if both of them felt the same way about the Bible. Funny, never before had Father made her feel uncomfortable in this way.
And now he spoke again, looking at her with a quizzical frown on his face. “Amy, ever since you’ve been big enough to go to church, you’ve been hearing these things preached. Why do you ask these questions?”
Amy couldn’t answer. How could she explain? It was as if all the thoughts were new to her.
As they continued down the road leading out Clear Creek Canyon, the two of them lapsed into silence, busy with their own thoughts. Amy determined anew to seek employment in Denver City.
Once out of the mountains, the horses picked up their pace. It was midafternoon when they reached Denver City, and Father turned the team down the trail to the Cummings’ house. “They’ve got plenty of room, and several of us will be staying there. It’s within a mile of the church, so we’ll be able to walk to services.”
Amy discovered the Cummings had planned for Daniel to stay at their home too. But that was to be expected. They knew of the marriage. Amy saw the curiosity in their eyes as she heard their apology. There wasn’t enough room and the men must bunk down on the floor in front of the fireplace.
April Taylor was there to share the bedroom with Amy. She cuddled her baby and beamed at Amy. Remembering the wan April she had met nearly a year ago, Amy was secretly and strangely relieved to see April’s cheeks blooming with color and to see the peaceful contentment in her eyes.
While Amy unpacked her valise, April chatted happily, telling Amy all the details of her confinement. And when she stopped for a deep breath, Amy asked, “What is it like now? Does your husband still travel a lot? Are there Indians nearby?”
April nodded. “Yes, He still travels his circuit. And there are Indians close.” When Amy shivered, she gave her a puzzled look, saying, “Amy, it isn’t so bad. There’s other folks around even when he’s gone. And the Indians, poor things. James is trying to make friends with them too.”
In a moment, as she diapered the baby, she added, “Part of the call is being willing to trust the Lord. Amy, we’re in God’s hands. Whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s—that’s Scripture.” With calm, clear eyes she studied Amy.
Closing her valise, Amy went downstairs to help Mrs. Cummings prepare dinner. Daniel arrived while she was in the kitchen. She saw him ride past to the corral, and her heart went yearning after him, even as she reminded herself there would be little time to talk.
At this meeting she noticed a difference immediately. The wives of the elders welcomed her with special smiles. She had become a part of the inner circle and their friendship left her with a guilty conscience.
Later, at church, when Daniel came to sit with her, she murmured, “What have you been saying to all these women?”
He looked surprised. “Absolutely nothing. I haven’t exchanged a dozen words with them. Why?”
“Mrs. Cummings, Mrs. Foster, even the Taylors have been telling me they’re praying you’ll get a better post this year, one in town so that I won’t have to spend another season with Father.”
Daniel moved uneasily on the bench and murmured, “Amy, I know this is difficult, and it will be even harder to explain when you leave. Believe me, I haven’t given anyone information about us.”
Then, before the pianist went to the shiny new piano, Amy asked, “Is Father Dyer here?”
“No. Some are saying they doubt he’ll make it this time. I don’t know why, but I’m guessing he’s too far afield to get here.”
The pianist began to play. Amy watched, listened, and very carefully tried to control her impulse to wince. Under the cover of her flaring skirt, Daniel searched for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Surprisingly, she found herself blinking back the unexpected tears. In his quick glance she saw both compliment and sympathy.
After the service ended, the people lingered, visiting with each other. Daniel came to her side again, saying, “I have something to tell you about Silverheels; will you walk with me?” Amy nodded and followed him through the crowd.
Outside he dropped her shawl over her shoulders and Amy said, “February, and it’s like spring tonight. That softness in the air—am I smelling willows too?”
“I doubt it, but it is encouraging.” They started down the road together with their arms linked. For a time, Amy forgot their reason for being together. Finally Daniel sighed and said, “I stopped in at the Rocky Mountain News today, just after I arrived. Went to ask about the epidemic scare at Buckskin Joe.” He turned to look at her. “Amy, it wasn’t just a scare. It was very bad. I’m fairly certain, from what I heard, that the smallpox started at Silverheels’ place.”
A wagon was passing and he led her off the road. “Look, let’s go sit on the steps of that deserted cabin. The wagons and carriages are moving out from the church and we’ll be covered with dust if we don’t wait this out.”
In front of the cabin they found a stoop made of split cottonwood logs. Amy pushed the partially open door and said, “Someone thought enough of his home to give it the little extra touches, the stoop and the floor. I wonder whether the family moved on to the mining camps or if they returned to the states?”
Daniel shook his head, saying, “I can’t guess. But empty, it’s a lonesome place. Will you be warm enough if we sit here?” She nodded and he sat down beside her. For a moment his words slipped past her. She was deeply conscious of his nearness. He bent to pick up a twig from the ground. As he flexed it, Amy studied him covertly, liking the way his nimble fingers tested the strength of the wood.
He said something. She knew it from his quick glance her direction. “I—what did you say?” And in that second before he looked away, the expression in his eyes made Amy catch her breath. Was it possible he still cared?
“I said they evacuated Buckskin Joe. All the townspeople who didn’t have smallpox left. Except for Silverheels. According to the fellow at the newspaper office, she stayed behind to nurse the sick. Those who didn’t die were just getting back on their feet when she was taken ill.”
Amy caught her breath and pressed her hand against her throat. She had to wait for her heart to steady. “Did she die?”
“No, but she was very ill.” The twig in his fingers finally snapped and he tossed away the fragments. “Amy, I can’t stop thinking about that woman. Most would consider her the scum of the earth. But why did she risk her life to help others? She could have left with the other dance-hall girls.”
Amy shrugged. But when she spoke, she couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice, “Maybe she had a sweetie who had the pox.”
“Could be.” Daniel found another stick and as he turned it over in his fingers, Amy’s thoughts were
drawn unwillingly to that last encounter with Silverheels. And now she saw a new picture—Silverheels nursing the smallpox victims, while Amy, the good, proper Christian girl, was smashing the china doll against the hearth. She winced at the comparison.
She tried to recall the anger she felt that day, but the picture of Silverheels bending over a sickbed, nursing one of those poor miners kept coming back.
Daniel looked up. “Amy, I’ve been rattling on about California Gulch and you haven’t heard a word. Is there something on your mind?”
“Well, I was thinking about Silverheels. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would care.” Even as Amy made the statement, other images pushed past the anger hidden securely in her heart—Silverheels caring for Lizzie, and that light kiss she had pressed on Amy’s cheek.
The day she had returned the cloak, for a few brief moments they had been in each other’s arms. Amy winced and pressed her fingers against her lips. Mother. That word longing to be said.
Daniel said, “I forgot to tell you the townspeople took up a generous purse to present to Silverheels, but she disappeared. The fellow at the newspaper office says he’s had no more information about her.”
They sat in silence. Finally Daniel said, “You’re tired. Shall we start for the Cummings’? I suppose it would have been wise to have ridden with the others.”
“No, this is better. Just talk, please. Tell me again about California Gulch. I promise to listen this time.”
He pulled her arm through his and Amy found herself wishing for more. As they walked slowly, Daniel talked. “The gulch is starting to attract more people. This time it’s families moving in. There are children and they’re beginning to talk about a school for them.”
“Why the change?”
“I have an idea it’s because the diggings have been so poor that the claims are up for grabs. Now a man with a family can afford to buy into a spot that’s been dug. Might be there’s more of a risk, but it’s hard to say so to these folks.”
For just a moment Amy thought she detected a wistful note in his voice as he added, “There are more coming to church and the women are excited about getting a sewing group going.”
“California Gulch is awfully high and cold, isn’t it?” Amy asked because she could think of nothing more to say.
“High, but I don’t think it’s worse than Buckskin Joe.” For a moment there was an eagerness in his voice that fell flat as he added, “But it’s terrible unless a person’s heart is in it. One of the young wives has left.”
“For Denver City?”
“Home, back to the states.” The unspoken subject lay between them. For a moment Amy toyed with the idea of telling Daniel her new plans, but they had reached the Cummings’ house. In the flood of lamplight coming through the door, Amy saw his grim face and lost her courage.
Several of the men were spreading their blankets on the floor. From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and the rush of excited feminine voices.
Daniel’s hand detained her. “Amy, I sense your heavy spirit—what is it?” She could only shake her head. “I wish I could help you. You know I do want that, don’t you?” Briefly the temptation appeared. Ohio.
Mrs. Cummings was watching them from the kitchen doorway. Daniel glanced at her and then bent to kiss Amy’s cheek. Amy started up the stairs as Mrs. Cummings addressed Daniel, “I’m right sorry I don’t have more room. Sure’s a crowd here this year. We’ve got people all over town.”
Chapter 32
The next morning Amy lingered behind while the others hastened through breakfast and headed for the church. Even April, carrying her baby, went with her husband.
Weeks ago, Aunt Clara had insisted that Amy read the Bible with her. And then she discovered Father seemed to be siding with Aunt Clara.
But the culmination of Amy’s uneasiness came with last night’s sermon. During the night the words had probed her hidden thoughts. The sermon had left one clear impression—she was an old wineskin.
After the door closed behind the Taylors and Father, Amy restlessly paced the floor. She kept coming back to the final words of the presiding elder, wondering why they still rang through her thoughts. You will know God not only as Redeemer, but also as Lord and Friend when you trust Him more than yourself; when His desires are more important than yours. The Holy Spirit will come upon you when your hunger for God exceeds everything else in life. Daniel had used the word desperate.
Last night, for the first time, while she watched those people kneeling at the altar, she had been touched with a strange envy. Those people hungered and thirsted in a way she couldn’t understand.
But even more, the elder had made the clear, flat statement: “‘Neither do men put new wine into old bottles, else the bottles break, and the wine runneth out and the bottles perish: but they put new wine into new bottles and both are preserved.’”
Perish or be preserved. Fearful words, just like the words Aunt Clara used. Yet it wasn’t the words that struck her, but the hunger revealed on the faces of those people reaching out for that something Amy didn’t understand.
Mrs. Cummings came into the room, and Amy saw she was watching her with a knowing look in her eyes. “Aw, you’re feeling poorly. Well, you just rest. The morning is always worse.”
She pulled her shawl across her shoulders and hurried out the door. Amy had just resumed her pacing when Daniel came back into the cabin. She saw the worried frown on his face as he said, “Mrs. Cummings tells me you’re ill.”
Slowly she sat down. Surprisingly her lips were stiff as she said, “No, I just wanted to be alone.”
He hesitated, about to leave; then he abruptly knelt beside her chair and asked, “Wanna tell me about it?”
One part of her was crying, You less than anyone else in the world; at the same time she wanted to throw herself into his arms. Amy settled back and thought of the gnawing inside. The need was bigger than her pride.
“Daniel, have you ever had a problem that confused you until you didn’t know what to do about it?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Well, what did you do about it?”
“I had to settle it myself, but I also needed a helping hand to start me in the right direction. Amy, do you remember the day Pa died, and how you sang to me? You were that helping hand.” He touched her gently. “Do you want me to help you?”
She could only nod as her tears splashed on his hand. He waited, then, “Tell me.”
She took a deep breath and tried to decide where to begin. He decided for her. “Amy, have you ever just plain, flat out told Jesus Christ that you want Him to be your Savior? I know from experience, carrying around a sin problem gets a person down. Our Lord can’t do a thing about it until we believe His promise to us. His Word says that even while we were still dead in our sins, He loved us, and died for us in order that we can be alive in Him.
“See, it is God’s love, grace and kindness in Christ that does all this for us. We only need to believe and accept what God is saying to us.” He looked up and waited.
“You make it sound so simple!” she cried. “Daniel, it isn’t that simple. Confess and get up and go on with life? I’ve tried it. Maybe I don’t have faith.”
“Why?” He waited and finally he said, “Does it go deeper? Are you trying to place limits on the Lord and what you are willing to give Him?”
“I suppose.”
“Shall I help you?”
She nodded her head and slipped to her knees beside the chair. He prompted, “Remember, He is God, and He loves you so much He died in order for you to live forever. We dare not neglect a salvation so great. On top of that, He knows what’s upsetting you. So the work’s half done.”
“Jesus Christ,” she began carefully, “thank you for dying for me. Please forgive my sins. I want you to be my Savior. I—” Her body shook with sobs, but finally she could say; “I really did hate you. But now I can’t. You started to rescue me. But I stopped co-operating with you. Now,
I promise, it will be different—the stubborn Amy, the ugliness—my dreams.”
Daniel helped her to stand. Wrapping her in his arms, he said, “Welcome, Amy. You are now my sister in the Lord. For all eternity, we’ll be friends together with Him.”
“Daniel, I must confess. Now I understand my dread of revival. I’ve blamed it all on the past, my fear, thinking it was because I saw my mother die. Now I understand. I’ve been fighting God. I did remember her, but I used that memory to build a wall shutting me away from God.”
He nodded. “I was beginning to wonder about that. I’m grateful you understand.” He hugged her again.
“That isn’t all.” His arms dropped.
He hesitated and then added, “If you want me to listen, I will; if you don’t, that’s all right, now and forever. I give you that promise.”
“I do.” She went to sit down beside the fire, to search through the jumble of feelings, sensing her shame, wondering if it would affect how Daniel felt about her. For a moment she looked at him. Even that must be risked.
“Those verses in Colossians—peace, reconciled to Him, being complete in Jesus Christ. They are things I want. I see I can’t have them until I’m willing to forgive.
“It’s Silverheels. I’ve discovered she’s my mother.” There was a strangled sound from Daniel, nearly a sob. She said slowly, “I know it’s terrible. A dance-hall girl—worse, a madame in a place like that. I am so ashamed, yet—”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I went to see her and we had a terrible time over it. See, I didn’t know until I found my picture in her cloak.”
His arm was warm and protective now. She leaned against him, taking comfort from his nearness.
She told of finding the picture, and then, slowly, painfully, she admitted, “We said horrible things to each other. I don’t know why. At first it seemed good, and then she sent me away. Ordered me out of her life. Said she didn’t want to be bothered by me. I’d ruin her career. She ended up mocking me like I was a worthless, silly baby and I screamed ugly things at her.”