Amethyst

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I’m sure you are famished by now, Reverend Chandler, but he made me promise not to bother you until he rang the bell.”

  As she spoke, she bustled about the cloth-draped serving cart, making sure each plate was just so. “Would you like me to help you?” she asked Mr. Dumfarthing.

  “No, I think not. Just a bit of that pudding and a drink of water.”

  “I brought fresh.” She poured him a glass and snaked an arm behind his shoulders so he could sit enough to drink. Glancing to Jacob she asked. “Will you say the blessing, please?”

  After he said grace, she nodded. “Would you like me to help you with the pudding?”

  “No. Jacob will.” Mr. Dumfarthing lay back as if drinking took all the energy he had. “In a bit. You go on ahead and eat and let me rest for a minute.” He paused without opening his eyes. “You might finish reading all that legal mumbo jumbo so if you have more questions, I can answer them.”

  “As you wish.”

  A snort let him know that the old man wasn’t really sleeping.

  After he finished eating, he took the papers to the window and let the sun warm his shoulders as he read them again. This was too much to believe. Lord, I know you said you’d provide, but this is beyond my understanding. I don’t deserve such munificence.

  A gentle chuckle wafted in with the breeze.

  “Any questions?”

  Jacob returned to his seat. “Not a question, but I’m needing some clarification.”

  “All right.”

  “So if I need money to build the church, I just write to you—”

  “To my solicitor. I won’t be here. I’m changing my address.”

  Jacob’s grin turned to a chuckle. “I see.”

  “So I write to whomever and tell him what I need, and he will send that amount of money?”

  “Yes. Above and beyond your monthly stipend.”

  That’s far more than a stipend. He still couldn’t comprehend that he would receive that amount each month.

  “You know I’ll be paid by the territory of Dakotah for my teaching.”

  “So?”

  Jacob shrugged. “Just thought I’d mention it.”

  “It will most likely be too late this fall to start the church building, but first thing come spring you can get to it. I’ll see if I can talk my Father into easing up on you folks this winter.”

  Jacob nearly dropped his coffee cup. He stared at the skeleton in the bed and caught a wink from one bright eye. Mr. Dumfarthing snorted, then chuckled, and finally broke out in a full laugh.

  Jacob shook his head. “I can just see you standing before the heavenly throne, negotiating with the Most High God.”

  “He said ask.”

  “I know.” But what I’m asking, He probably has a better answer for. How he had missed their chats and verbal duels. All because he had run, and yet, look at all the good God was working out for him.

  When he heard the old man snoring, he rose and left the room. Mrs. Howard waited right outside the door. “If you could show me where my things are…?”

  “Of course. Then I’ll take out the dinner things. He should sleep for a while now. This has been more effort than he’s used to. Each day he’s fading more.” She stepped back and let him precede her into a bedroom with a four-poster bed as big as the soddy back home. “I took the liberty of hanging up your coat. I brushed it out good.”

  “Thank you.” Jacob crossed to the padded bench at the foot of the bed and removed his Bible from his carpetbag. “I’ll just go sit with him, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I see he needs shaving. I could do that for him.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Jacob watched Mr. Dumfarthing sleep, wondering at times if he would awaken when the breaths seemed farther apart.

  “Jacob.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Good.” He reached out and Jacob took his hand.

  “If you feel up to it, I could shave you.”

  “Perhaps later.” He paused, the pauses growing longer. “About your housing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you found a wife yet?”

  “I hope so.” What did that have to do with a house? But he waited, knowing there was a purpose.

  “The young woman, Opal, that you mentioned in your letters?”

  “God willing.” Jacob went on to explain Rand’s request.

  “A wise man, that Rand. And a good friend?”

  “I do believe so. He’s one of God’s gifts to me and the whole community.”

  “Good. I want you to buy a ranch, since you said Joel loves ranching, and it sounds like Opal does too.” He paused and lifted one eyebrow. “Again, contact our solicitor…”

  Jacob caught the emphasis on our. It sounded like theirs would be a long-term relationship. He took Dumfarthing’s hand in his again. “Sir, I cannot begin to thank you. Are you sure?”

  Again the chuckle or at least an attempt at one. “Just use it all to God’s glory. I trust you to do that.”

  “Yes, sir.” Please, God, that I can and will.

  Throughout the evening the old man sank lower and lower, his lucid times farther apart, his breathing more faint. He passed on to glory just after the clock bonged midnight. Jacob watched, fighting tears as he knelt by the bed. “Good-bye, my friend. Godspeed.”

  Mrs. Howard wiped away her tears. “He was a good man.”

  “Only Evan Dumfarthing could have planned and executed his death like this.”

  “I told you he was waiting for you.”

  “Now I understand what you meant.”

  The next day Jacob met with the solicitor and came away more in awe of what he’d been given than ever. Meeting with the pastor proved that Mr. Dumfarthing had indeed laid out all his wishes, and they would be followed.

  “I’m going to miss him,” Reverend Goldsmith said. “We had some fine discussions. He spoke very highly of you.”

  “I’m glad you took the time to get to know him.”

  “It started as a command performance.” His blue eyes twinkled over round ruddy cheeks.

  Jacob smiled and nodded. “I’m sure that it did. So we can have the funeral the day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I’ve already set things in motion.” He handed Jacob his copy, in Mr. Dumfarthing’s handwriting, of the order of service.

  Jacob read down and broke into a chuckle. Beside the word Eulogy, his old friend had written, Keep it short. The same instructions applied next to the word Homily. Jacob looked up. “Mrs. Howard said she is preparing things at the house.”

  “Our women will bring food in spite of his directive, so tell her to go easy.”

  Jacob raised his eyebrows.

  “I know. She doesn’t listen any better than he did.” Reverend Goldsmith leaned back in his chair. “You have any questions or suggestions for the funeral?”

  “Not that I can think of. He laid things out about as well as any man could.” He rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Thank you.”

  The funeral went according to plan, but Jacob doubted Mr. Dumfarthing had any idea how many people would attend the funeral. People filled the church wall to wall and outside down the front steps. According to his wishes, the casket was closed, but people passed by it anyway, laying a flower or patting the wood. Many continued on out to the cemetery, wiping tears as the box was lowered into the ground.

  “A perfect day,” Mrs. Howard said that evening after Jacob had helped her put things back to rights. “Just the way he planned it.” She sighed. “He misjudged the number of people we needed to feed, though. Good thing the ladies of the community brought things by.”

  “Reverend Goldsmith knew better. He seems like a good pastor for the church here.”

  “He is.” She looked over at Jacob leaning back in the leather armchair that had been Mr. Dumfarthing’s favorite. “But we sure missed you after you left.”

  “That was a terrible thing I did.” Jaco
b reminded himself yet again that he’d been forgiven for his actions.

  “Mr. Dumfarthing looked forward to your letters. I’m glad you wrote and told him about life in the badlands. He read everything he could find about the area.”

  Jacob nodded. “He was an amazing man, and I will be eternally grateful, as will my friends out west who will benefit from his largess.”

  “Me too.” She caught a yawn. “I will bid you good night, then. Is there anything you need?”

  “No. Rest well—you’ve earned it.”

  She sniffed and blinked several times. “I won’t hear his bell ever again.” As she left the room, he heard her sniff again.

  The next day he boarded the train and headed west. Home, I’m going home. I can’t wait to tell everyone this story.

  “Thank you, Lord, for the I gifts I am bringing.” I never had time to write to Opal. He took in a deep breath. But now I can prepare a place for her, God willing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  August 14, 1887

  Dear Miss O’Shaunasy,

  I know you didn’t give me permission to write to you, but you left so suddenly that I was not the only one caught by surprise. I asked for your address from Mrs. Hegland, and while she was hesitant to share it with me, I persevered until she acquiesced. I’m certain she will be writing to you soon also, for she says she misses you greatly, as does Carly.

  I am not attempting to make you feel guilty but just informing you as to our feelings here in Medora.

  I am moved into my house at last. The roof is all finished, and just today I nailed the last shingle on the porch roof. I am hoping to find my windows tomorrow at the station when the train arrives from Dickinson.

  Jacob received a summons from a friend back east, and he’ll be leaving tomorrow on the train. That, too, was a bit of a surprise. It seems there are surprises all over the place. Now that the haying is completed, Joel and the girls are taking the wagons out to pick up bones—a rather gruesome task but another example of some good coming from such tragedy. Fertilizer companies are paying by the pound for bones to grind into fertilizer. Then I am certain they will try to sell the fertilizer back to the farmers and ranchers. There is some degree of irony there, don’t you think?

  There is plenty of grass for the cattle this year, as there are so few cattle grazing. No one else has left lately, so perhaps the ranchers who remain will eventually regain their livelihood. Rand predicts that cattle ranching will never again reach the epic proportions it did before the winter of ’87. We shall see. I purchased another lot of fifty head, so I now own nearly a hundred.

  I would be very happy if you would take up correspondence with a lonely man out here on the prairie.

  Yours truly,

  Jeremiah McHenry

  Amethyst read the letter again. He wrote to her. He actually took pen in hand and sent her a letter.

  “Amethyst, dear…” Mrs. Grant paused in the doorway. “I have arranged a fitting for you. Mrs. Beaumont has made room in her busy schedule to sew a couple of new gowns for you.” Mrs. Grant paused again. “Was your letter good news?”

  Amethyst nodded. “From Mr. McHenry. He asked me to correspond with him. To quote him, he said he’s ‘a lonely man out here on the prairie.”’

  “Jeremiah McHenry said that?”

  Amethyst nodded. “He did. In the beginning he accused me of leaving abruptly.” She set the dainty chintz rocking chair in her room to rocking. She had never seen such opulence until she walked in with Mrs. Grant and was shown to this room as though she were a beloved guest, not one of the serving women. But as Mrs. Grant reminded her whenever necessary, she was now a business partner, not a servant.

  To think she, Amethyst Colleen O’Shaunasy, was the one being waited on. It made her most uncomfortable.

  “Which means you didn’t get his permission.”

  Amethyst’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Mrs. Grant crossed the room and sat on the padded settee that matched the rocking chair. “My dear, you have to understand both the military and the masculine mind. A man like that is used to giving orders and having people in his command ask his permission before doing something.”

  “I wasn’t in his command.”

  “No, but he was certainly taking you for granted. You made sure he had plenty to eat and drink and provided conversation when he so desired. True?”

  “True.” Amethyst felt her hair slipping. And Joseph hadn’t been the one to cause it this time. He would grow up without her to watch. And Carly. Ach, how she missed them. “He mentioned Carly, saying that they all missed me.”

  “What a devious man.” Mrs. Grant shook her head, wagging one finger. She huffed a sigh and laid her hands back in her lap. “Now we must continue our plans for our business. The room for you to experiment with the receipt Mrs. Sampson sent us, along with her samples, is nearly ready. We need to order whatever other supplies you need”—she looked from under her eyebrows—“or if you even dream of needing something, you must put it on the list. While you are doing that, I will see to the legalities of organizing our enterprise. However, Mr. Arthur, my solicitor, will be arriving in about half an hour, and I would like for you to meet him.”

  “If you think so.” Amethyst felt that a whirlwind had snatched her up from Medora and deposited her in Chicago, into a house she’d not known enough to dream of and into a life she still needed getting used to. So many things Mrs. Grant, the whirlwind who was at it again, took for granted.

  Riding in a wagon with iron-rimmed wheels plodding across the prairie did not compare to driving to the house in a phaeton with a fringe along the roof. But the wind blowing free and clean across the badlands had no parallel with the heavy air of city streets that stank of decay and too many people.

  What would her father say if he could see her now? The thought made her shudder. On those rare occasions when she did think of him, she prayed he treated his new wife better than he had her mother and her.

  Here it was only August twentieth, and she’d already had tours of the house, the neighborhood, the city. She’d worshiped in a church that made her eyes pop out, and shopped—or rather Mrs. Grant shopped while she gawked—in stores that carried things she’d never heard of. She brought herself back to the room when Mrs. Grant laid a hand on her shoulder.

  She removed a pair of hair combs from her pocket. “I brought you these because I know you lost one of the others. For the dinner I’m arranging for some people who will be interested in our line of products, we’ll have my maid, Alyce, do your hair. She will be delighted to work with such glorious tresses.”

  “Glorious tresses?” Amethyst put a hand to her slightly off-sided knot.

  “Yes, of course.” She patted Amethyst’s shoulder. “You will look lovely. And you have added only enough weight so that most women are going to think your tiny waist is the result of a tight corset.”

  Terror struck. “I don’t have to wear a corset, do I? I cannot bear to be hemmed in.”

  “While it is the mode, I will not force you into the strictures of society.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but that is why I run away so often. We will have to make many trips to Fargo to work with our partner there.” Mrs. Grant rose and immediately became the lady of refinement and grace. “I hear the door. Let us go down and see what Mr. Arthur can make of this.”

  Throughout the meeting Amethyst sat back and watched her friend at work. She alternately ordered and acquiesced, explained and listened. Selling her cottage cheese to the townspeople of Medora was far more simple and yet the same. One had something to sell that others wanted, and one received money for doing the best she could with what she had. Mrs. Alvia Sampson in Fargo saw that her patients healed faster after she applied her lotions and salves. Mrs. Grant knew that women in the city would want the same lotions and salves to help them be more beautiful.

  She’d heard stories of women using white face powder and the powder making them sick, even t
o dying. Was it so deathly important to be in the latest fashion?

  “That will be all, then—for today. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  “You are indeed welcome. I shall get these papers back for your signature as soon as possible.”

  “Tomorrow?” Mrs. Grant’s right eyebrow arched.

  He sighed and nodded. “Tomorrow. Late.”

  Mrs. Grant held out her hand to shake his. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Miss O’Shaunasy. Welcome to Chicago and the world of Mrs. Grant.” He picked up his papers, bowed slightly, and left the room to be escorted out by the housekeeper.

  “So what do you think?” Mrs. Grant asked.

  “I think I have no idea what all went on, but selling cottage cheese was far easier.”

  “True. You took your wares right to the buyer. Here we will be sending our product to stores that will sell our product to their shoppers. We need to go shopping ourselves and watch other women shop. See what they choose and perhaps even ask them why.”

  “We?”

  “I think so.”

  Fittings were far different than sewing, trying on, and sewing again. Amethyst stood still as ordered, turned when instructed, and gratefully stepped out of the half-made garment when the woman said she was finished. The watered silk felt delicious on her skin. The brocade was too heavy for now but would be warm enough in the winter.

  Would Chicago have blizzards like Medora? Not according to one of the help she’d asked the question.

  At night she thought of the new cabin built out at the U bend in the river and of Jeremiah McHenry. She remembered Carly sitting on her lap and Joseph giggling when her hair tumbled down. She could hear Pearl playing the piano, and she’d not seen birds in the city other than chipping sparrows and pigeons. There were no meadowlarks on the morning wind nor eagles and hawks in full wing, black against the sun or sky so blue it looked to go on forever.

  The sky wasn’t prairie blue in Chicago even on a sunny day.

  But no matter how busy she kept herself during the day and how resolutely she refused to allow herself to think of him, at night she saw a certain one-eyed rancher. Heard him.