"I’m sorry, Aunt Mandy, but when Ozzie said Mama smelled like a stinking old chicken, I lost my temper," Rex confessed, his voice full of feeling. "He wouldn’t take it back, so I flew into him like a tornado."
Speechless with dismay, Amanda had said nothing at the time. Now she was glad she’d held her tongue. Following the unpleasant incident, Rex had thrown himself into his chores. He’d even given old Toby a good currying before she’d called him in for supper. Later, he’d spent all night with his nose in his schoolbooks, no doubt dreading what she’d say to him regarding the fight with the Lancaster boy.
Bone tired, she’d stood on the porch watching the sky later in the evening. Somewhere, a lonely coyote howled. Restless hens clucked and fussed. A storm was coming, so there was no brilliant display of the orange, pink, and yellow she so enjoyed at sunset each day. Instead, the landscape was gray and dreary. Like my life, she thought mournfully. A dull gray past and a dull gray present. Amanda could barely recall the days when she wasn’t tending one sick parent or the other. Now there was Ella to care for. If Ella died too, she’d be responsible for Rex and Minnie. Although she’d borne her responsibilities dutifully, Amanda was tired of being dutiful. She feared her cup of patient cheerfulness was now nearly empty — down to the dregs. Her youth was gone forever. Nothing could ever bring back those years. How she longed for a rosy future. Was it wrong to want a life with more color in it? Was it wrong to want someone to love — someone who would love her back?
Consumed by her own quiet desperation, Amanda had not been able to decide what punishment would be most suitable for Rex. At bedtime, she had simply wrapped her arms around his shoulders and said gravely, "Try to control your temper, Rex, and don’t let Ozzie Lancaster provoke you into a fight. That’s what he wants. Don’t give it to him."
She’d said nothing more about the fight with Ozzie Lancaster. No sermon about turning the other cheek. No threats of future punishment. Amanda guessed Rex had been at the end of his rope when Ozzie had taunted him. She knew and understood such feelings all too well.
Rex had been grateful for her tender mercy. He’d thrown his arms around her waist and hugged her until she gasped for breath. Rex was a good boy. That’s what she’d tell Gil Gladney, if the matter came up in the near future. If he’d wanted the boy punished for fighting at school, he should have done it himself.
A wail from Minnie distracted Amanda from her reverie about yesterday’s incident. She had a bottle ready and was feeding the hungry baby in the sitting room when Mr. Schwarzkopf called to her from the kitchen. "I go now, Miss Dale. I leave money on the table."
She hollered out a thank you and wondered how much money he’d left. Whatever the amount, she promised herself she would take it to the bank tomorrow — no matter how small the sum — to assure the manager of her earnest intent to pay off her sister’s debt.
When Minnie finished feeding, Amanda carried her to the warm kitchen and gently bathed her with a warm, wet cloth. The baby squirmed and squalled until she was once again warmly clothed and tucked inside her cozy cradle beside the stove. That’s when Amanda realized how hungry she was. After slipping the money into an envelope and tucking it away in Randall’s desk drawer, she sliced off a small piece of ham and helped herself to a serving of strudel. The pastry, heavily spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, was flaky and delicious. She wondered if she could tempt Ella into taking a bite.
To her surprised gratification, Ella opened her mouth when Amanda offered her a bite. She even raised her eyes to Amanda’s face and seemed to be searching for something there. She chewed slowly and swallowed with a loud gulp. When she pulled her gaze from Amanda’s face and fixed it on the empty fork, Amanda’s heart lifted.
"You want another bite? It’s good isn’t it? Mr. Schwarzkopf called it strudel." She quickly poked another small piece into her sister’s open mouth. As she watched Ella chew, she felt elated. This was the first time her sister had shown any interest in eating for weeks. Amanda hoped fervently this was a sign Ella was recovering. She considered baking an egg custard, using some of the tinned milk the storekeeper had just delivered. Their mother had always made custard for them when they were recovering from one childhood illness or another.
Amanda held the cup of water to her Ella’s dry lips. To her relief, her sister took several sips before slumping back against the pillows.
"Tired," she croaked, her voice faint. Still, Ella had spoken, and that was something.
"Thank you, Lord!" Amanda exclaimed aloud, holding herself back from hugging her frail sister. "Of course you’re tired," she said warmly. "You’ve been ill. But you’re getting better every day. I’m going to make you an egg custard, just like Mother used to make. And I want you to eat every bite."
Ella did. When Rex came home from school, Amanda handed him a slice of strudel and told him the good news. "Go in and say hello, Rex. Tell her about the spelling bee and the other things you’re doing at school."
His eyes lit up as he darted off on tiptoes to his mother’s room. He returned to the kitchen almost immediately. "She’s sleeping, Aunt Mandy. I don’t want to wake her up."
Amanda nodded. "Do your chores and fill the wood box. After supper you can go in and see her again."
Later in the evening, Amanda told Rex to keep an eye on the baby while she washed her hair. After toweling it dry as much as she could, she returned to the sitting room to stand in front of the fire and comb it dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d washed her hair, but she wanted to look presentable when she went to the bank in the morning. Amanda peeped in on Ella as she passed her room and told Rex, "Your mama is awake now, if you want to go speak to her."
Rex, who’d been sitting next to the baby’s cradle doing his homework, scrambled to his feet and hurried to his mother’s room. Amanda sat down in the rocker and tipped her head toward the fire, combing the tangles and snarls from her hair. She could hear him talking in the next room, but not clearly enough to know for certain what he was saying.
When he came out about fifteen minutes later, he stood drooping on the threshold of the sitting room. His expression was so odd Amanda felt her heart lurch.
"What is it, Rex?" she demanded, her voice hoarse.
"Mama wants to see the baby."
"What? Did she say that?" Amanda sat up straight and tossed her damp hair over her shoulder.
"She just said the word baby," he explained. "She said it twice, so I think she means she wants to see Minnie. Don’t you think that’s what she means?" His face began to glow with hopefulness as he stood a little taller.
Amanda looked down at the baby in the cradle. Minnie was awake. Her dark eyes bright and alert. Both little arms were on top of the blankets, so Amanda could see her wiggling her small fingers as though trying to figure out what they were for and what they could do.
"All right. Let’s take little Minnie in to visit with her mother," Amanda said, her heart pounding like a parade drum. It was the first time Ella had ever inquired about the baby or shown any interest in the newborn at all. It was a hopeful sign.
Lifting Minnie out of the cradle, Amanda carried her gently into Ella’s room. She found her sister lying on her side, facing the door. She placed Minnie on the bed, near enough for Ella to see her up close and plumped the pillows behind her. For the longest time, Ella simply stared at her baby daughter, as though trying to focus her gaze more clearly. She didn’t reach out to touch her or try to lean closer for a more thorough examination. Ella didn’t move at all. Finally, she spoke a single word: "Rex."
"No, Mama, I’m Rex," he said, stepping nearer to the bed and touching her hand to get her attention. "The baby is Minnie. At least, that’s what we’ve been calling her, because she was so small when she was first born. But you can give her a real name. We’ve been waiting for you to think of something," he rambled.
When Ella repeated the name Rex in a thin, quiet tone, the boy fixed eyes eloquent with feeling upon his aunt.
Amanda f
rowned. "I’m not sure, Rex, but I think she means the baby looks like you or like you did when you were a baby," she said. "Is that what you mean, Ella?"
Ella gave a faint smile and opened and closed her eyes, too weary to say anything more.
Amanda cocked an eyebrow at Rex. "So, your baby sister looks like you did when you were first born. Your mama is remembering."
"That’s good, isn’t it?" His face appeared painfully eager.
"Yes, it is," Amanda agreed. She went to bed that night with damp hair, but a kindling of hope. As she snuggled under the covers, she warned herself over and over again not to fan it into a flame.
When Doctor Morgan and his wife arrived the next morning, Amanda asked him right out, "Did you give my sister a dose of some new medicine when you were here last?"
She’d put on her best dark green wool skirt and matching form-fitting jacket, with a crisp white shirtwaist underneath. Her clean dark hair had been brushed the requisite one hundred vigorous strokes and neatly coiled into a braided bun at the back of her neck. After giving a few instructions to Mrs. Morgan, a thin, capable woman, who darted quickly from one spot to the next like a hummingbird, Amanda climbed into the buggy and repeated her question. "Doctor, what did you give my sister when you stopped by yesterday?"
"Nothing but a piece of my mind," the doctor replied. When Amanda shot him a surprised frown, he went on. "I told her how selfish she’d been. I told her honestly, there was nothing wrong with her and advised her to take stock of her blessings — she’s got two fine youngsters, a good roof over her head, and a sister with a heart of gold. She should be ashamed of herself for lying in bed feeling sorry for herself."
Despite being pleased by the doctor’s compliment, Amanda was annoyed by his rough treatment of her sister. "That was… that was harsh," she pointed out.
Doctor Morgan flicked the reins and headed the buggy back to town. "Maybe," he said with a shrug. "But she needs to hear the truth. She’s been mollycoddled long enough. It’s time she gets up out of bed and gets on with living. That’s my professional, medical opinion, for what it’s worth. Why did you ask about the medicine?"
"Because Ella spoke yesterday and even wanted to see the baby. She ate an egg custard too." Amanda felt joyful tears brimming over.
A slow grin lit up the doctor’s face. "Glad to hear it! Indeed I am."
They made the rest of the short trip in companionable silence. Amanda prayed Ella would soon be on her feet again, eager to run her household and care for her children. Once Ella was fully recovered, Amanda would have to decide what to do next. Should she return to Las Cruces and the small home she’d grown up in beside their father’s blacksmith’s shop? That’s what she’d originally intended to do when she’d first arrived to tend to her sister. But now, she was reluctant to leave. If she returned to Las Cruces, Amanda knew she’d probably never see Gil again. Such a dismal thought. She was not willing to contemplate it for too long.
The business at the bank proved not to be as overwhelming as she’d feared. Amanda was more than ready to give Doctor Morgan the credit for this. After hesitantly asking for a private meeting with the manager, Amanda had been led to a back office by a young bank clerk. Doctor Morgan offered to accompany her, and she’d readily accepted. Once she’d introduced herself and been seated in a creaking leather chair, Amanda presented her small cache of bills and explained her sister’s financial circumstances. In his role as physician, Doctor Morgan expressed his concern about Ella Stewart’s medical condition. The bank manager appeared remotely sympathetic. After a brief conversation regarding the Stewart’s loan, he offered an extension on the mortgage, advised Amanda not to fall behind on the interest payments, and thanked her and the doctor for coming in to explain the situation.
"There now, everything will work itself out," Doctor Morgan assured her as they left the manager’s office.
Amanda heaved a sigh, thankful the situation was not as desperate as she’d feared. As they prepared to exit the bank, Beulah Johnson came in. Her thickset frame filled the doorway. The woman regarded Amanda and then the doctor. Her heavy eyebrows shot up.
"Amanda Dale!" she exclaimed. "And Doctor Morgan." Her eyes narrowed, giving her an expression of cold, quick cunning.
"Good morning, Mrs. Johnson." Amanda greeted her with polite reluctance. She wondered what sort of conclusions the woman might be coming to, seeing her at the bank accompanied by the doctor who was tending to her sick sister. Before Amanda could say anything else, Doctor Morgan gripped her by the elbow.
"Good morning to you, Beulah," he said, taking a step forward and propelling Amanda along as well. The other woman was forced to step aside. "Are you taking out another loan? Leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?" he quipped.
As he successfully maneuvered her out the door, Amanda bit her lip to keep from laughing. She’d seen the look of angry astonishment on Mrs. Johnson’s flushed face as they passed her in the doorway and heard her sputter of indignation. Amanda was settled in the buggy and the doctor had given his horse a loud giddy up before she ventured to speak. "Doctor, I’m surprised at you." She shook her head and chuckled.
He cast a sidelong glance, flickering with humor. "That’s what we called offensive tactics during the war. I learned it in my hot-blooded youth."
Amanda tried to imagine Doctor Ezra Morgan as a young soldier, but even in her imagination, his youthful face boasted those thick white eyebrows. She chuckled before adding on a more somber note, "Mrs. Johnson came by the house on Saturday. She wanted to make an offer to buy Ella’s property."
Doctor Morgan frowned. "I hope you told her to go to the devil!"
"Not quite," Amanda replied, surprised by his vehemence. "But I did explain I’m not in any position to sell property belonging to my sister. I also told the woman I didn’t think Ella had any plans to sell the property in the first place."
"Of course not," he protested. "Why should she? It’s her home. She’s safe here. Folks know her. We look out for our own."
This was certainly true, Amanda knew. The neighbors had been kind and supportive during the tragedy. Should she decide to return to Las Cruces, she wouldn’t have to worry about Ella, Rex, and Minnie. They would be taken care of by their neighbors. But should she return to Las Cruces or stay here? Would Ella want her to go or stay?
"By the way, Miss Dale, it’s a piñon year, and I’m organizing a bit of a nut picking party come Saturday. I hope you’ll come. Rex too. Katherine will stay with your sister and the baby."
"I’ve never picked piñon nuts before," Amanda admitted. She worried too about taking advantage of Mrs. Morgan’s generosity. "Perhaps Mrs. Morgan has other plans," she suggested.
"Nonsense. It was her idea to sit with Ella in the first place. There will be plenty of old hands to show you how to pick the nuts," he assured her. "The Snows are coming and the Cordova family. I’m inviting that Gladney fellow too, the schoolteacher. I’m sure he’s never been piñon picking either, being from Indiana. We’ll leave early — about dawn. We’ll rendezvous at your place."
Doctor Morgan went on providing details about the planned outing, but Amanda didn’t pay much attention. A passing thrill had coursed through her veins at the mention of Gil’s name. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of seeing him again.
****
Sitting on the school steps, Gil was pounding the dust out of the blackboard erasers when Oz Lancaster rode into the schoolyard on Tuesday afternoon. He climbed out of the saddle wearing a sullen expression on his face and a chip on his shoulder.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lancaster," Gil greeted him, rising as he did so. He wondered if he should point out to the man he was a day late for his appointment. Noticing the man’s tight jaw and narrowed pig-eyes, he decided against it.
"I want to talk to you about my son," Lancaster replied curtly. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his corduroy overcoat. So he won’t have to shake hands with me, Gil guessed.
"Come in out of the s
un," Gil invited. He led the way into the schoolroom. Upon entering, Lancaster hesitated on the threshold at the sight of the two girls — one sweeping the floor with a broom and the other dusting the bookshelves. Both glanced up from their tasks when the two men entered.
"Thank you, Tamara and Jill. That will be all for today," Gil told them with a grateful smile. "I appreciate your help. See you in the morning."
Casting curious glances at the visiting parent, the two girls put away their dust rags and broom and retrieved their books from their desks. After they’d said their good-byes to Gil, he sat down in the chair behind his desk. He motioned for Oz Lancaster to take a seat at a student desk in the front row. Gil did this on purpose, knowing the man had come to challenge his authority. He wouldn’t make it easy for him to do so. Lancaster had not removed his slouch hat either — a sign of disrespect or simply poor manners?
"Mr. Lancaster, you wish to speak to me about Ozzie," Gil said. He knitted his fingers together, resting them on the top of his desk. "Shall we start with his academic performance or his behavior during class time?"
The man fixed him with a glare, sizing him up. In a grating voice, Lancaster said, "I think you’ve been real hard on my boy. Ozzie never had no trouble with any of the other teachers — before you." His tone was accusing.
"That’s not true, Mr. Lancaster," Gil replied. "I have a notebook left to me by the previous school teacher, Miss Weston. She wrote a page about Ozzie’s poor reading skills and his tendencies to bully the other students at recess time." When the man frowned at him in a doubtful manner, Gil added, "Would you care to see it for yourself?"
At first, Lancaster said nothing. He fixed his gaze on something behind Gil’s right shoulder and seemed to stare at it with deep concentration. Gil guessed Miss Weston, and Miss Platz before her, had been at their wit’s end wondering what to do about Ozzie. They were probably intimidated by his father and therefore, had said nothing to him about the boy.
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