The Snowflake

by Jamie Carie

“And have you found it, sir?”

  He looked over my shoulder at the other whirling dancers and shook his head with an exhaled huff and a half grin. “I did this night.”

  I blushed, the heat of jolted embarrassment filling my cheeks more than the excursion of the dance. A choice leapt within my mind. I could be coy. I could flirt. I could bat my lashes and giggle like the other girls. But all I wanted to do was take his sweet, tired soul into my arms and comfort him like a mother.

  Oh, Lord! If I am in this much sympathetic turmoil on my first night, what will I be like by the end of the week? Give me something to say to him. Give me some of Your hope and vision for this man.

  I’d prayed! I actually cried out to God for the first time in longer than I could remember. “What’s your name?”

  “Joel Hobson, ma’am.”

  An idea formed as fast as I spoke it. “Well, Joel Hobson, I’m taking down names tonight for those who want prayer. Would you like to be on my list?”

  “You’re a religious woman?” His brows shot up to his receding hairline.

  “I love God . . . and I pray. I’d like to pray for those who want it.”

  The music ground to a sudden halt. We swayed with the effort to still ourselves. I allowed him to take my arm and then steered him toward the bar as instructed. Just before releasing his grasp on me, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You surely are a jewel. I’d like to be on that list.”

  I bit my lower lip and nodded. What had I done? One prayer didn’t make me any kind of expert. I didn’t have my own life figured out, so how were my prayers going to help anyone else? The joy faded as doubt raised its ugly head and stared me straight in the eyes.

  Dear Buck,

  I heard you were in Forty Mile, and while I know you may never receive this letter, I wanted to write out my thoughts to you. I’m staying at the El Dorado Saloon and Dancing Hall and have taken a job as one of the queen of Dawson’s famed dancing girls. You might be surprised by this news, and then again, when I think of all you have been through in your life, all that you’ve seen, I think you might understand.

  Most of the men are a decent sort. They want someone to talk to, someone to listen and care. A few are frightening to me. When I am asked to dance with a man who has that lustful stare, looking me up and down in a way that makes my spine crawl, then I question my decisions. But I’ve found something, some key. I didn’t realize the lesson of it when Jonah was alive, but in living with him, I learned a talent. I learned how to look beyond a face and see into a hurting, lonely soul. I have begun to pray again, for others at least. I pray for you every day. If anyone deserves God’s grace, it is you.

  I miss your face. I miss your crystal eyes that glow like blue ice. I miss your strong voice and shoulder and the curve of your neck. I miss your kisses. I miss you.

  You promised to come back for Christmas. I cross off each day and wonder, will you come? Even if you have not healed your heart by confronting your past, will you come? Even though you promised me, and promises broken are all I’ve known, will you come?

  Regardless. You will live forever in my heart.

  Ellen

  I stared at the letter, my hands trembling, and tried to keep the dripping tears from staining the yet-dry ink. Should I really post it? My heart galloped at the thought of him reading my deepest, innermost thoughts.

  My body answered my question before my mind and will had thought it out and made a conscious decision. I rose from the bed, sealed the letter, and wrote out the address. I walked from the room with strong, determined steps, into the parlor, dim and empty, and laid the letter on the table by the door where all letters to be posted were laid.

  I placed my letter, my heart, on top of the small pile and backed away. Then I covered my face and cried.

  Chapter Eleven

  Twelve days until Christmas.

  Stella and I squeezed in with the hundreds of people attending Father Judge’s Sunday service. The crowd grew quiet and respectful as he entered from a side door. Surprise filled me at his appearance. The man’s clothes hung in tatters around his elbows and ankles, looking more like rags than anything else.

  His face spoke of wrinkled exhaustion, but then he turned and scanned the crowd, his gaze locking with mine for a few seconds. I inhaled—a sharp, sudden breath. His eyes held a light that beamed with an almost supernatural intensity of pure love. And when he began to speak, his thin voice quivered with adoration for God.

  We all sat or stood, elbow to elbow, motionless to catch every word.

  The words he read from Psalm 139 caught in my heart, and I repeated them over and over in my mind to memorize them:

  “For thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. . . . When I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect. . . . How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.”

  The picture the words painted of God making me and knowing me that intimately . . . Did He really have so many thoughts toward me? Did that kind of love really exist? That it might robbed me of breath and then filled me with warmth. I wanted to believe it, but the facts of my life made it look untrue. My muscles strained with the questions.

  Oh, Buck, I wish you were here so I could talk to you.

  After the service Stella leaned toward my ear. “He’s called the saint of Dawson, you know. He started a hospital when Dawson was just a tent city, and it’s nursed many a soul back to health.”

  I nodded, knowing the priest’s reputation as a selfless servant to the community. Maybe, if I could get close to him, Father Judge would talk to me. “I heard they are asking for volunteers since the nuns didn’t arrive to nurse the patients. Do you think they would let me volunteer?”

  “Of course he would. I just can’t believe you aren’t as tuckered out as the rest of us by Sunday.” Stella clutched my arm as we jostled our way through the departing crowd and out onto the street.

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “As if you nap all day. Will you be going to visit Tom this afternoon?”

  She giggled, looking pleased with herself. “He is my beau, you know. Why, with him being a bartender at the Tivoli and me dancing all night, I hardly ever get to see him.”

  I’d heard about the infamous Tom Baker. He was rumored to be one of the miners’ favorite bartenders—telling hilarious stories, giving advice, and weighing the gold dust in the miners’ favor more often than not. Stella had filled in his physical description saying he was dark haired with a long mustache and goatee, golden green eyes, and a smile that melted her heart.

  “Well, have a nice afternoon, Stella.”

  “Oh, I will. You have a good time with all those sick people.” She wrinkled her nose and waved good-bye. I couldn’t help but smile at the wink she gave me before she turned and sauntered down the busy street with a cheerful gait.

  As I made my way through the throngs of townsfolk, a nervous rumbling turned in my stomach. What if Father Judge rejected me? What if dance-hall girls were considered little better than the prostitutes on Paradise Alley and not allowed entrance to the town’s better establishments? Names like Nellie the Pig, Oregon Mare, and Goldtooth Gert, who really did have a gold tooth, sprang to mind. What if they only knew me as Jewel? It wasn’t as if I had any great nursing skills with which to boast.

  I tried my best to squash such thoughts as I entered the large two-story log building that was Saint Mary’s Hospital. It was quiet in the small reception area. I took off my bonnet and let it dangle by the silk ribbons from my hand as I wandered farther inside.

  I walked up to a faded painting of Mary holding the baby Jesus and stared at it. The artist had captured the love shining out of a mother’s eyes for her child. What would it be like
to have a child of my own? The realization that I’d never considered it before jolted me. Had the weight of Jonah’s care robbed me of a young woman’s desire to have a family? I wasn’t sure I had the courage to be a mother. What if I turned out like my father and abandoned my child?

  “May I be of service?” a gentle voice asked.

  I jerked at the sound, so deep were my thoughts, and turned. Father Judge seemed even smaller in person, frail as a much older man would be, with small, sunken eyes behind round glasses, a gaunt face, and dark, receding hair. “I—I would like to volunteer my services, that is, help with the sick on Sunday afternoons, if you could use the help.”

  The man took in my fancy dress, and for a moment shame filled me. I wasn’t good enough for this place. “I have a little nursing experience,” I rushed out.

  A smile and the glow I had seen earlier lit his face. “We would welcome your help, Miss . . . ?”

  “Oh.” I breathed a sigh and walked forward to shake his hand. “Ellen Pierce.”

  “So good of you to come, child. Here, let me show you around.”

  The two front rooms were a receiving room and the priest’s office. Two examination rooms were in the middle of the first floor along with a kitchen and small bedroom with only a cot and washstand against the back wall. Upstairs was a long, open room, running the entire length of the building, filled with rows of cots. Several men lay on them, and they cheered up, talking and waving at us as Father Judge walked into the room.

  The priest stopped by every bed, fluffed a pillow or two, tousled the hair of men hardly younger than he as if they were boys, and joked with the patients. The look of joy and love on their faces took my breath. It was clear they adored him.

  After checking on each patient, with me trailing after him, Father Judge stopped and introduced me to the room at large. The men let out a cheer, heating my cheeks.

  “Isn’t that Jewel? From the Monte Carlo?” someone from behind me asked.

  My gaze shot to the priest’s and froze. “He speaks the truth. I guess I should have told you that.” I hesitated, looking around at the men. “Do you still want me to help?”

  “Of course we do. Not one of us is greater than another in God’s eyes.”

  I inhaled suddenly as the thought registered. “What can I do?”

  “I think for today you should learn our schedule. The men have already had their noon meal, but I have a feeling you have not?”

  “Oh, but I’m not hungry. You can put me right to work.”

  The older man stared long into my eyes, and peace flowed from him. I had to push back tears. Get a hold of yourself, Ellen.

  “Very well, then. Could you write some letters for the patients? Many of them haven’t the strength to hold a pen.”

  I thought of all the letters I had been writing to Buck. Yes, letters I could do.

  Within ten minutes the priest set me up with the necessary writing implements and a wooden stool to scoot from bed to bed. The hours passed like fleeting clouds scudding across the sky. And like clouds I saw pictures of each man’s life as he wrote to his loved ones back home. I smiled at the end of the day. My heart was now well and truly turned toward these patients, and my desire to help them in any way had become a burning hope as I heard their stories of home.

  Father Judge could not have given me a better first task, and I was almost certain he knew it.

  It was late and the hospital quiet as I pulled on my coat. I peeked in the tiny office looking for Father Judge to say good night. He was reading a worn-looking book I assumed was a Bible, but he looked up and gave me a gentle smile, then motioned toward the chair. “Ellen, please come in a moment. I want to thank you.”

  I took a step inside. “There is no need to thank me. It was a pleasure to help.”

  “Oh, but I must. As you can see, few people are willing to give up their Sunday for others. It is a rare quality you have.”

  I shrugged, not knowing what to say to such praise.

  “Have you always served others?”

  “I suppose so. My family needed me. I took care of my brother for the last several years, but he . . . he died and now I don’t know what to do.”

  “I see.”

  The way he said it made me think he saw something I didn’t. “What do you see?”

  “I see a lovely young woman trying to find her purpose in life.”

  I sat on the chair and sighed. “Yes, with my old purpose gone, I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do you know what you want?”

  Buck’s face flashed through my mind. I blushed and looked down.

  Father Judge laughed. “You have an idea?”

  “I want a family—my own family,” I whispered.

  “God places desires in our hearts, child. There is nothing to be ashamed about.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “What do you fear?”

  “He won’t love me back. He’ll never be able to.”

  “Ah.” Father Judge closed his eyes and bowed his head. I remained quiet while he silently prayed. When he looked back up, he smiled at me, and a rush of peace flowed from his eyes to my heart. “I will pray for you every day that God will grant you the desires of your heart. Be at peace, Ellen.”

  I stood with tears clouding my vision. No one had ever prayed for me that I knew of, and certainly not daily. First Kate and now Father Judge. Why was it that Dawson, a city so far away from anywhere, had people in it who cared for me? “Thank you, Father.”

  He stood, came around the worn desk, and gave my hand a squeeze. “Go in peace, child.”

  “I’ll see you next Sunday.”

  “Even if you don’t come back, even if you stop serving others, God still loves you, and I will still pray for you. You don’t have to earn it, you know.”

  It was another new thought. Why did I feel like I didn’t deserve love?

  I left the hospital full of questions, but the feeling of God’s peace remained all through the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  So, how many marriage proposals did you get tonight, Ellen?”

  It was four o’clock in the morning, and Kate sat across from me at a table in the emptying dance hall. I laughed. “Only two tonight. One of them claimed to have dug out two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gold from his claim.”

  Kate’s mouth kicked up in a sideways smile. “Well, goodness gracious, girl. Why didn’t you take him up on his offer? That sounds like a real catch to me.”

  I sipped the hot coffee and let my face go blank and serious. “The top of his head came to my nose, and he had two missing teeth among the rotten ones. I’m holding out for a little better.”

  Kate threw back her head and laughed. I smiled at her.

  Kate had held up her end of the bargain. She stopped by every couple of days to check on the business, and she always made time to sit and chat with me and listened while I read the Bible. Her observations and comments about what we read revealed her wit and intelligence and often shocked me or made me laugh. There was nothing she was afraid to say, and I found myself thinking about the people in the Bible in a new way. Aside from Father Judge, Kate was the most honest person I’d ever known.

  One of her elegant eyebrows arched, and I knew she was about to be very honest.

  “I don’t suppose any man around here could catch your heart. It’s already taken, isn’t it?” A look of compassionate knowing emanated from her eyes.

  “I suppose it is.” My voice was soft in agreement as I took another sip and hid part of my face with the cup.

  Kate sat up, her face alight with mischief. “I have an idea that will take your mind off him.”

  I rolled my eyes and set down the cup. This was not going to be good.

  “Christmas is just four days away, right?”

  I nodded, my stomach clenching at the reminder. Would Buck really come?

  “I’m thinking of having an auction.”

  I blinked once. “What kind of auction?�
��

  She tilted her head sideways and flashed white teeth at me. “Why a ‘Bride for Christmas’ auction, of course.”

  I groaned. It was worse than I thought. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  Her lips pursed in a pretend pout. “It’s a wonderful idea and you know it. The men are never lonelier than on Christmas day. You girls will fetch a small fortune, and I will split it with you fifty/fifty.”

  “Kate . . . if you use the word wife, you know they will want a wife, with all the wifely duties included. You need to take this idea to Paradise Alley.”

  “Those men can have the fallen birds on that street any time they want. Now listen. I will make it clear on the advertisements that it is not a real marriage with bedroom expectations. Just spend the day with a lonely man, cook him a nice Christmas dinner, listen to his stories, and pretend to care about him for twenty-four hours. It’s brilliant!”

  If the men abided by such rules, and after getting to know many of them I thought they would, I had to admit she would make a small fortune in one evening. But it was still risky. The girls would have to go home with the miner and no longer be under the protection of the Monte Carlo.

  “It might be brilliant, but I’m not interested.” I couldn’t tell her that Buck might, just might, come back for Christmas, and I couldn’t be pretending to be somebody’s wife if he walked through the door. I couldn’t tell her that, but the light in her eyes told me I didn’t have to.

  “I’ll make you a deal.”

  I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting.

  “If you participate, I will personally pay off the remaining debt for Saint Mary’s Hospital.” Her lips curved up as her eyes slanted. “I know how much you love that place.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. The hospital had substantial debt, and the possibility of clearing it . . . the look on Father Judge’s face when he was told? I pressed my lips together in a tight line and glared at Kate.