Colorado Gold

by Marian Wells

  Amy turned on her side to listen to Daniel. When he finished, she said, “Daniel you are reminding me that I have an obligation to act like a Christian now, and a responsibility to treat the Bible different—it is God speaking. I will, I really intend to do so, but I’m scared.”

  He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. “Amy, I believe you. You’ve taken a vow to live out your life for God, and that is not to be taken lightly. Also, we need to remember that Silverheels cannot be expected to act any differently than she has in the past.”

  “You say Silverheels, not Mother,” Amy said slowly. “Is it because you can’t imagine her as my mother?”

  “Possibly.”

  “It would be nice to have all this just disappear,” Amy said slowly, feeling guilty and miserable even as she admitted it.

  “But it won’t. Amy, could we pray together about it?”

  Daniel reached across the mound of blankets and took her hand. “Lord, the burden of Silverheels lies between us. Please guide us to her and use us in her life. We can ask for nothing better than your will for her.”

  When Daniel turned away to sleep, Amy watched the faint cherry glow of the stove and wondered about her response to it all. It seemed his prayer had lifted Amy to a new position. One in which she realized she sided with him, not against. It left her feeling as if she had been drawn into an inner circle, of knowing Daniel in a new way.

  She turned her head to look at him, conscious of a lonely wish to reach out and touch him; but at the same time, she felt constrained.

  As she mulled over their separation, she felt the difference. Was it possible to be held at a point where spirit communion could grow to a new dimension, with a clamor that blocked out all other need? He had used the word “friends.” But as she continued to think about it, she sighed. It wasn’t enough; there must be more to life than linked hands.

  In the morning Father Dyer looked at her rumpled frock and tumbled hair. With amusement he said, “I suppose we can take a walk until you manage a miracle with your comb and a bar of soap.” Turning to Daniel, he added, “Let’s go salute the dawn, and then I must be on my way.”

  Fresh clothing and breakfast righted Amy’s world and by midmorning she and Daniel were on their way into town.

  “Let’s stop at the store; most likely H.A.W. will be there.”

  But before they reached the store, Amy and Daniel passed the squatty log cabin that served as the courthouse. Amy said, “Did you know this place was Buckskin Joe’s house?”

  Daniel said, “I didn’t know there was such a person.”

  Amy nodded. “He not only found gold here, but owned part of the Phillips claim. I hear he sold out for a little bit of nothing and left the country. At least he had a town named after himself.”

  Daniel said, “Let’s go there first. I know the clerk who is recorder of deeds.”

  Amy nodded. “He came often to the Grand Hotel while I played the piano there. Mick Sawyer is his name.” She followed Daniel into the building. Mick got up from his desk and came to the counter.

  Amy couldn’t control her gasp. As Daniel shook hands with the man, Mick said, “Might as well say it. Most of us look like this, the ones that survived.”

  “The scars are bad now,” Daniel admitted, his distress showing in his eyes. “I’m sure time will help. Meanwhile—”

  “Most of us are just glad to be alive,” Mick said. Now, with a twisted smile, he added, “I suppose you preachers are saying it’s the mighty vengeance of the Lord on us for not heeding revival.”

  “Might be better to say it’s the work of the Adversary. He’s been known to do such things every since he first got Eve to listen to him.” He paused and added, “You’re not going to tell me none of the good Christian folk had the pox, are you?”

  Mick grinned at Daniel and said, “Well, what can I do for you?”

  “Have any idea what has happened to Silverheels? We’d settle for information about any of the girls who lived over there.”

  Mick shook his head. “Most of them scattered like autumn leaves soon as they heard about the pox. Not surprising when you consider their faces are their business.” He paused. “Silverheels? That’s one genuine lady. Stuck with us to help out in a bad time. Most of the folk can’t say enough good about her. But we don’t know where she is now. Some say she’s left the territory. Most of us think otherwise. Maybe you should talk to the Tabors.”

  Daniel and Amy continued on down the street. It was nearly noon and there was a scattering of people on the street. But Amy noticed the difference, not only in the people but in the very atmosphere.

  The rollicking gaiety of the town was gone. The dancing schools were silent, with gaping lifeless windows. Only one saloon had open doors, and the sober murmur of voices coming through the door seemed strange.

  Continuing down the street, Daniel and Amy noticed the faces of passers-by. Few were unmarked. Amy could see many people walked with effort; their faces were white and sad.

  At the store they found H.A.W. behind the counter. His shop once signaled the prosperity of the town; now there was a look of neglect. The shelves were nearly empty and dust covered the line of tinned fruit and vegetables. He apologized. “We’re still trying to get things back in swing. Augusta and the boy are staying in Denver City for a while. That’s one reason we just can’t get a handle on life. I sure need that woman here.”

  He listened to their request and slowly said, “So Mick sent you to me. No one wants to be thought the strange one, and that’s what the giver of this story will be called.”

  He paused, seeming to consider his answer. Finally he took a deep breath and said. “I’m sure I know every cabin and shanty in the area, so it’s almost a fact that she’s not living around here. But there’s something strange going on.

  “Come night, some say they see a woman dressed in black and heavily veiled. Most often it’s by the light of the full moon when they see her. Seems she walks among the new graves, weeping. Now, don’t you two go outta here saying H.A.W. Tabor is losing what little wits he had. ’Cause if you say I told you this story, I’ll deny it.”

  Silently Amy and Daniel retraced their steps to Father Dyer’s cabin. Halfway there, Daniel stopped suddenly. “I’m just not satisfied. Amy, let’s go over to the boardinghouse and look around. There ought to be something or someone around.”

  Chapter 34

  Daniel started down the road so lost in thought that he nearly forgot Amy. At last he saw she was trotting along at his side, trying to keep up with his long strides.

  Frowning at himself, he stopped and turned. He took her hand and apologized. “Sorry. I was off on my own tangent. Wondering what to do next.”

  There was a worried expression on her face. As she looked up into his face, she caught her breath and said, “Might be we’ll have to forget about the whole thing.”

  “Wanna sit down and rest?” He pointed to the rocks beside the road.

  She nodded, “It’ll give me time to get my wits together.”

  They found two large rocks and sat down. Daniel watched Amy point to the touch of green appearing around the base of the rock. She said, “Soon it will be spring.” But he was thinking it would soon be a year since their marriage. How much longer could they both endure this awkward situation? Friends. That was laughable, heartbreaking. He sighed.

  “Daniel, you’re tired too. We’ve tried, can’t we forget about it?”

  He hesitated. “Well, I can’t stay up here too long. There’s folks depending on me. Also, if you’re not back in Denver City before the week is up, your Father may head for home without you.”

  She nodded, got to her feet and started down the trail. “I’ve rested enough. Let’s get on with it.”

  As they approached the boardinghouse, Amy said, “Looks empty. It’s probably locked.”

  “That door is ajar.” He went in ahead of her, and she followed, hanging on to his coattail like a frightened child. But even he had
to admit to the strange feeling it was giving him. The emptiness, the creaking of the floorboards under their feet, and the scurry of mice made the deserted building seem alien.

  “That’s her room over there.” Her voice echoed as she pointed, “But I sense there’s not a soul here.” Her brave voice was too loud. Daniel tried the door that led to Silverheels’ room. It seemed locked. He twisted and shoved. The door moved inches.

  Amy murmured, “It’s a chest against the door. I can see it. I’ll squeeze past.”

  “Do it then.” He stepped aside, adding, “No reason to force our way if there’s—nothing to be seen.” She slipped through. There was silence and impatiently he asked, “Amy, can you move the chest?”

  “Not alone. Push on the door, and I’ll push on this side.” He pushed, then heard the rasp of wood against wood, and found he was able to slip through the opening.

  Heavy draperies covered the windows. Amy went to pull them aside. She stood, slowly looking about the room, and he saw the sadness on her face.

  He felt the weight of the room himself. As she turned away, he saw her blinking her eyes. “Amy, it’s somehow pathetic, isn’t it?” His voice sounded lame to him. He walked about the room, wondering how to express the sadness the empty room was making him feel.

  Amy moved restlessly about. Picking up the black cloak Silverheels had given her to wear, she said, “I wonder what happened to the picture? It isn’t in the pocket.” He watched her go to the closet. With her toe she nudged the pair of silver-heeled slippers lying there.

  “Looks as if they’ve just been kicked aside,” he murmured. Daniel saw the sadness on Amy’s face had deepened. Feeling a surge of tenderness welling up inside, he clenched his hands and turned to pace the room.

  The overwhelming hopelessness of their situation swept over him. To love and have a chance of winning was one thing, but to be committed to denying the possibility of fulfilling that love is a burden I no longer want to carry. Friendship, Amy? Dry crumbs compared to having a wife. He rubbed his face and sighed, admitting to himself, These days a spiritual tiredness is sapping my strength.

  He lifted his head and saw that she was standing in front of the dressing table. Her fingers moved among the line of bottles, brushes and crystal flasks.

  Daniel took a deep breath and went to her side, saying, “It’s as if she’s just stepped out for the day. Amy, you must accept the possibility that she’s—”

  Amy looked up at him. “Dead? It almost gives relief. Don’t feel bad. I’ll never be touched by her memory again.” He looked at her strangely and she continued. “It seems certain she’s dead or gone forever. Obviously no one has been here for a long time.”

  “We haven’t been upstairs yet. Come along.” He headed for the stairs, glad to be free of the room and the strain of seeing the tears clumping Amy’s eyelashes together.

  Amy was behind him as they walked the hallway, looking into the tiny cubicles. Each roughly finished room still held the tattered remnants of the life left behind. The beds had been stripped of their blankets, but many of the open closets spilled forth color and texture.

  To Daniel the abandoned marks of the trade—the costly and garish, the silks and satins—proclaimed a message more loudly than words. Their owners no longer had need of them.

  Amy shuddered and turned away. “I can think of only one reason those dresses would still be here. Just like Lizzie. Left behind.” She touched the spill of cheap perfume bottles on the dresser and the candle holder bearing a mouse-chewed candle and a frayed hair ribbon. “Daniel, do you know that at one time I envied these dance-hall girls with their pretty dresses and their saucy, confident ways?”

  They resumed their silent march up and down the halls, checking in all the rooms for evidence of life, clues that promised hope. Daniel murmured, “This is like a wake, a silent mourning. It seems a vigil of emptiness for a froth of brightness that has lost the reality of life.”

  Amy looked around, “Reality of life—yes, I suppose that is so.”

  When they returned to the first floor, Amy stopped in the hall. With a quick glance he passed her and entered Silverheels’ room again. Standing in the middle of the room, he turned slowly, studying every detail.

  Amy came, saying, “The piano is gone from the parlor. I suppose it’s been carried off because of its value.” Her voice was wistful and he glanced at her. That note in her voice revealed a yearning he should have guessed. He wanted to promise her a piano. But that was something he couldn’t say. He took a deep breath and sought the safe ground.

  “Music is a part of you, isn’t it—like I have brown eyes and a funny nose.”

  She looked up. He saw astonishment, and then her expression changed. He turned away quickly even as his heart was pounding with a new revelation. Amy had a soul-deep hunger; he could see it in her eyes. Was music a need in her life? A something as big as his need to preach the Gospel?

  Now he recalled the things Lucas Tristram had to say about Amy’s talent. The fellow had looked at him, saying he’d do everything in his power to see Amy got her opportunity. Well, he’d be the fellow who could afford to give her the biggest piano in the world.

  Daniel paced around the room; his thoughts circled back to Amy as he felt a growing excitement. Just maybe God was behind her soul-hunger.

  He stopped. Amy was waiting with that wistful expression in her eyes. Maybe I can’t now, but someday, my Amy. Daniel straightened his shoulders. He also clenched one fist and smacked it into his hand. He grinned, tempted momentarily to inform his wife that after all, friendship wasn’t so great, and nuts to Tristram—she was Mrs. Gerrett.

  He turned to nod toward the closet door hanging open. “About Silverheels—Maybe we shouldn’t give up just now. Look. There’s a gap in there. I see her dancing frocks, but where are the warm, sturdy clothes?” He pointed to the half-drawn curtains around the bed. “What has happened to the blankets on that bed?”

  “Perhaps someone has stolen these things,” Amy murmured as she continued to walk around the room, looking into every corner. When she reached the mantel above the fireplace, she stopped.

  Daniel watched her stiffen and catch her breath; she moved forward slowly, even reluctantly. Frowning now, he saw that for Amy the room had ceased being an impersonal memory. Something had touched her deeply.

  “What is it?” Daniel bent over her. He saw a fragment of china on the mantel.

  “Oh, Daniel!” her voice was breaking, but she persisted, pressing out the words as if they were a form of torture she deserved. “See, it’s part of a china doll’s head. Mother gave the doll to me. She said to remember her. I had intended to take it. But—” She gulped. “Daniel, we shouted terrible words at each other. Before I left she reminded me to take it. She said, ‘Don’t forget your dolly.’”

  Daniel waited. He watched her clench her fists, and lift her chin. With tears streaming down her face, she admitted, “I threw it at her. Just as hard as I could throw. I was sorry it missed hitting her.” He waited.

  Her face crumpled as she said, “Don’t you see? I hated her.” Now with imploring eyes, whispering, she said, “Daniel, I am afraid!”

  “Amy!” He had not intended it, but his arms were open and with a sob she came at him. “My darling.” He held her, kissing away the tears and feeling the urgency of her body against him.

  But he had made a commitment to be her friend. Just a friend. He held her away. “Amy, Amy, my dear, please!” Her lips were still lifted and he kissed her once more. Then gently he put her aside and paced the cold darkening room.

  When he came back to her, the approaching dusk had hidden away the expression in her eyes. Bending close, speaking softly, he said, “I promised you I’d be your friend. Do you want me to keep that promise?”

  Then he said, “You’re crying; why?”

  She shook her head slowly from side to side. Steadying her voice she said, “It’s Silverheels. I can’t get away from the sense of responsibility. What if s
he’s alive and in need?”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’ve no suggestion to offer unless we go to the cemetery after dark. It seems nearly a hysterical story.”

  “Do you mind going with me?”

  “No, of course not. Amy, we’re still in this together. If that is what you want, I’m willing.”

  While the minutes passed slowly, Amy considered it all. Daniel’s rebuff still stung. Her tears were only partly for Silverheels; how much more deeply his rejection had wounded her pride! She thought back to yesterday. Friendship? Daniel, I sensed you jumped at the chance to escape the trap we’re in.

  “Then I think we should go tonight. It may take several days to be certain that she isn’t visiting the cemetery.” He paused and then added, “It’s important to get you back to Denver City before your father leaves.”

  Important. Most certainly, otherwise he would be stuck with the task of getting her home. She considered the dismal future. Central City or Denver. Without Daniel, either one would be part of the past.

  She sighed and shook her head, impatiently wondering why the need to be with him had risen to a clamor. Willful Amy. Again she blushed with shame as she thought of the way she had thrown herself into his arms.

  She looked at Daniel. What would he say if she were to reveal her plans to stay in Denver City? For a moment hope flared, and then flattened. Somehow she had the feeling he would say nothing.