For that first week of travel after Matthew joined the wagon train, Amy and her mother rode together. Amelia explained the change. “I have a feeling that Matthew needs to talk to your father. He also needs to let that arm heal, and that can’t happen while he’s riding in the saddle.” She added, “Eli needs some man talk too.”
Amy felt her eyebrows slide up. Amelia commented, “Does that surprise you? Any man gets tired of the apron strings.” For a moment her smile twisted and Amy was caught by the expression.
Amelia added, “Most men don’t like to talk about things close to the heart. Your father’s that way around womenfolk. It just seems to be the way men are. Raised to be strong, not given to tears and fluttery feelings. Sometimes I think I’ve always pushed too much.” She sighed and smiled at Amy.
“I know,” Amy admitted. “I always wanted something more’n he gave out. But Aunt Maude made him uncomfortable at times. Tears just don’t set well with Father.”
“It isn’t tears, so much,” Amelia said slowly. “Sometimes I get the feeling that if he’d allow me to say it all out, then it might be he’d trust me more.”
“Mother!” Amy couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice. Staring at her mother, feeling her heart sink in the old familiar way, she thought, If she can’t be trusted, then what about me? How’ll I ever get to the place where I can trust myself? She thought about God and felt the old, familiar shrinking.
Amelia was watching her. Amy straightened and tried to smile. “I guess I’m not sticking as close to the Lord as I should. It’s—”
“Hard when there’re troubles?” They rode in silence and then Amelia looked at Amy. “I suppose I should be telling you to have faith and trust, but Amy, I’m only beginning to live there. Now I feel only a happy companionship with Him. I remember the story about the woman washing Jesus’ feet and wiping them with her hair. Jesus explained her actions by saying a person forgiven much is inclined to be very grateful. That’s the way I feel. At the same time, I’m realizing it isn’t so much a matter of how many sins are forgiven but that they are forgiven.”
They rode in silence again until the sun was nearly overhead. Amy tucked her shawl behind the saddle and glanced at Amelia. “Maybe I’m not grateful enough; sometimes I forget—”
Amelia looked surprised. “Oh, Amy, that isn’t what I meant. I’m not mourning over my sins. I have no right to that attitude. Eli made me know that right off. See, God’s love is like showers of gold. When He forgives and pours the forgiveness out on us, it’s like being bathed in gold. It sticks to you, reminding you that it’s still all there—the forgiveness.”
For a time there was only the creak of wagon wheels and the plop of hooves. Finally Amelia spoke slowly, softly. “My past makes me shudder now. Dance-hall girl, madame, runaway mother.” She turned a bleak smile Amy’s direction. “The only merit in it all is the Lord’s willingness to forgive my sins and to allow you and your father the grace to forgive and accept me again.” She paused, then added, “When I finally faced my sin under God’s eyes, I would have died without having His forgiveness. But that is by faith, because He says so.
“It is just as Eli says, when the Lord pours His glory out on us, we frail humans have golden souls. He keeps reminding me I can polish gold all I want, but it’s His business to keep the gold there. By our faith and trust.”
When she looked up and smiled, Amy caught her breath. “Mother, you are beautiful! One of these days—”
Amelia shook her head. “Now, Amy, I can see it. The Lord has started His beautiful work in you, too.”
The next day they continued to journey away from the mountains while the landscape grew increasingly arid. Amy knew they were heading for the Arkansas River. Beyond that lay Colorado City and even farther beyond was Denver. Straight north, she was thinking when her mother remarked, “It seems to be taking us a long time. Since Raton it’s been over a week we’ve been traveling and we haven’t reached Pueblo.”
Amy nodded. “I said so to Mr. Downs. It’s over a hundred miles from Raton Pass to Pueblo. He did say we’ve been making fifteen or twenty miles a day, and that’s good. That’s because it’s mostly downhill.”
Her mother was watching with a puzzled frown. Suddenly she said, “Amy, what is wrong? You seem—”
Amy looked up in surprise. “Why, nothing much. Just tired of traveling. My stomach’s been bothering me. Guess it’s too much cornmeal and beans. I’ll be so glad for home, at least when I don’t think about—” She paused, sighing deeply. “If only Daniel would be there!” Then she closed her lips firmly over the worry, and for a time they rode in silence.
Finally Amelia straightened with a sigh. “I fussed at Mr. Downs because the trip was taking so long. He said it’s because of the Indians. Can’t move very fast with the wounded men and can’t travel late because of the Indians.”
Amy asked, “Did you have trouble with the Indians when you and Father traveled this way?”
“No, and I can’t understand the fuss—we haven’t seen a one.”
“But Matt said he thought the Indians he traveled with had something brewing, and he didn’t seem happy about the whole situation.”
“Yes, and I think he said a great deal more to Downs,” Amelia added soberly.
Later Amy stirred herself to ask, “You’ve been through Pueblo; what’s it like? The name sounds interesting to me. Probably because we traveled through Taos.”
“Well, it has nothing to do with that kind of pueblo. It’s a little place, mostly a trading post and a freighting stop. It was settled by the Mexicans a long time ago. Just a farm area then, back before the gold mines were opened. It’s situated on the Arkansas River, so there’s plenty of water.”
“I wondered,” Amy murmured. “The past couple of days I’ve been thinking it looks pretty desolate. Right now I can’t see anything except sagebrush and rolling hills.”
“Pueblo is interesting,” Amelia continued. “Most of the buildings are adobe, just like the ones we saw in New Mexico, except these have better roofs. More rain around here. There’s a big church. The Mexicans come from all over the valley to worship.”
“Catholic?”
“Yes, but there are white people around who aren’t. And there’s people passing through all the time. Freighters too.” Amy turned to look at her mother, and Amelia glanced at her with a smile. “I don’t know why it took our attention. It’s not the comfortable place a person would want to live; still—” She sighed. “Your father is excited about it. So much so, I’m guessing he’ll find an excuse to come back here later to look around.”
Downs was riding toward them. There was a heavy frown on his face as he pulled on the reins. “Report of Indians hanging around. The fellows have been watching them play hide-and-seek in the rocks over there.” Amy followed his pointing finger. To the northeast the low bushes and touch of green in the meadows abruptly ended at a rearing wall of rock.
Amy shaded her eyes against the sun and studied the rough rampart of gray rock. The wind moved bushes and bent grass, but there was only stillness in the rocks. She shivered. “I hope the fellows are as mistaken as my eyes say they are.”
He threw a quick glance her direction as he curtly replied, “I’m giving the orders to stretch leather. You ladies be certain to keep the wagons between you and those rocks. Indians like pretty women with blond hair.”
“Amy,” her mother said calmly, “we need to catch up with the wagon. I want to speak to your father.”
Matt was awake and seated beside the driver. “Wanna trade places with me?” he addressed Amelia.
She shook her head. “I have more arms than you do right now. Is Eli asleep?”
Eli answered by scooting forward in the wagon. “Amelia, do you want to take this rifle?” Amy watched her mother’s face and tried to keep from shivering.
Amelia shook her head. “I need both hands on the reins.”
He scooted closer and reached his hand across the side of the wagon. “Amelia, no matter what happens, ride hard for Pueblo. I love you both.” The wagon was moving faster now. Amy watched it go. Her throat was tightening with fear.
When she turned, Amelia blinked and smiled. “Come on, daughter of mine, let’s stretch leather, like Downs said.”
With a nod, Amy grasped the reins and smacked them sharply across the flank of her horse. As the mare moved out, Amy glanced toward the rocks. She caught her breath and studied the rock again. “Mother,” she cried into the wind, “I see dust up there!”
“Ride!” Amelia shouted. Amy bent low over the horse’s neck, but her thoughts were filled with the facts. There’s just three wagons and a handful of wounded men and two women.
It seemed they had been riding forever. Only the dry wind chafing her face and the snorting horses existed until Amy raised her head and blinked. She could see a dark slash across the horizon.
A cluster of trees appeared. “Mother!” she cried. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Amelia smiling. They were keeping abreast of Eli’s wagon. Amy began to relax.
She heard the shout before she saw the wagon in front of them swerving. “Amy!” Her mother cried the warning and cut away from the trail. Amy’s mare followed, plunging down the embankment. Amy was still trying to understand when she heard a sharp crack, a shout. Amelia circled her horse beside her. “Indians! Amy, head for the river.”
There was another crack. This time Amy knew it was gunfire. She clung to the saddlehorn and bent low on the horse’s neck. But in the dash toward the river, while wind lashed at her and the horse jumped sagebrush, Amy’s mind was filled with another picture—an image of blue and gray uniforms, of plunging horses. The sharp crack of gunfire went on and on in her mind. She heard her mother screaming her name.
Amy lifted her face. The horse had stopped. Amelia and the trees were in front of her. Slowly Amy pried her fingers away from the horse’s mane, sat up. Mother was patting her face, “Amy, dear! It’s all right. See, this is—”
“Ma’am, this is Pueblo. You ladies need help?” Amy stared at the stranger. He was a white man and his eyes were filled with concern.
Amy pressed her fingers against her numb lips and watched Amelia slip from her horse and turn toward the trees and the river.
She saw the cluster of adobes and the sprawling log building. She caught her breath and focused her eyes on the man. “We’re safe?”
A stream of people poured down the dusty street toward them. Amelia flung her arm, pointing and crying, “Indians! Please help.”
“Ma’am, look.” The man pointed toward the road cutting away from the log building, climbing the hill. “My men heard the commotion, they’ll give your menfolk a hand.” His tracing finger followed the whooping men on horseback headed up the hill.
He was grinning and at ease as he added, “I’m Bill Whiteside, I run the trading post and stage stop. Now don’t you worry about the Indians. ’Tis too close for them to try anything much. More damage jest from those wagons plowing into each other. See?”
Amy turned. In the distance, outlined against the sky, she could see the Indians. They were bare and bronze, with feathers and paint. She watched them circle the cluster of wagons, moving cautiously closer.
The shouting men from the trading post breasted the hill and Amy heard a shot. Like toys on a stick, the Indians whirled their horses. The lump in Amy’s throat disappeared as she watched the bronze streak stretch out across the horizon, to be swallowed by the barrier of gray rocks.
It was nearly twilight before the two wagons were separated and slowly pulled down the hill to join Amy and her mother under the trees. They could see the other wagon still on its side with one broken wheel outlined against the sky.
The wounded soldiers and two new casualties were made comfortable on the the grass while the wagons returned to the hill. When her father hobbled toward them, Amy saw his face was white, but he was smiling as he said, “Our driver stopped an arrow. He’s in pain and he needs help. There’s another fellow with gunshot wounds, though not bad. We can only thank the dear Lord for protection.” He paused, adding, “The wagon in front of us broke a wheel and we tangled with them, otherwise we might have outrun the Indians.” Amelia moved and sighed. “Amy, are you up to helping?” She blinked. Her mother’s face was white, so colorless that the red scars had become brilliant blotches. With a quick lunge, Amy threw herself at Amelia. Finally, with another hug they smiled at each other and headed for the wagons.
From the litter of blankets and supplies the men had dumped on the ground, Amy pulled tents, cots, and blankets. Matthew came limping up to help. His grim face was still pale. She said, “Matt, between the two of us, I think we can get a tent up.”
“I’ll do the tent. You go help your mother. Here’s some bandages, and I guess this stuff is turpentine.”
Eli was seated on a box, working beside Amelia. Some of the wounded soldiers came to help Matthew. Another fellow began to gather firewood. Amy stopped, looked around, and took a deep breath. A young soldier with a bandaged head grinned at her. “Good to be alive, huh?” She nodded and blinked back the scalding tears in her eyes. It was Daniel she wondered about.
In the morning, while the members of the wagon train gathered around the fire for breakfast, Downs got to his feet and faced the group. “I’ve spent most of the night trying to decide what to do. Either we leave supplies, which we can’t afford to do, or we leave people. I’m under contract to get you soldiers to Denver pronto.” His eyes shifted toward Eli and Matthew.
Eli spoke up. “We’re in no hurry to move on. In fact, we’re just happy to have had company this far.”
A protest boiled to Amy’s lips and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, but she could only think, We’ve just been attacked by Indians, and Father wants to go on alone!
Matthew offered, “I’m footloose. I’ll stay here and wait for the stage.”
She saw the relief on Downs’ face. “We can make it with two wagons and most of the supplies. We can also get these men to a doctor a great deal quicker. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”
The next morning the two wagons pulled out, leaving behind the wounded driver, Will Harvey, Matthew, Amy, and the Randolphs. Matthew said, “The fellow who runs the trading post is an Anglo. He’s offered me a bed if I help him out. He’s also pointed us in the direction of a Mexican lady who’ll take Harvey in and watch after him.”
“Harvey don’t need no watching,” the driver grumped.
“Well, if you’ve got all summer to recover, I guess not,” Amelia stated. “Seems a little attention will get you back on your feet in a hurry. Maybe in time to be traveling when Downs comes back this way.”
“Maybe so,” Harvey muttered as he carefully shifted his injured arm.
Amy faced her parents. She noticed the hint of excitement in her father’s eyes and remembered the conversation with her mother.
Amelia was frowning. “We can’t just let you go off by yourself, Amy. Downs said there would be a stage through here in a day or so, but it will be a lonesome trip for you—” She stopped and looked at Amy imploringly. Amy turned away and scuffed her toe in the ground, waiting for the lump in her throat to go away.
Finally her father sighed and said, “How about giving me time to learn how to hang on to a horse with this leg. Then we’ll ride up the mountain with you.”
“To Oro City?” Amy studied their faces. She saw Amelia’s relief and her father’s resignation. She also saw the yearning in his eyes as he looked over her shoulder toward the village behind them. Trying to ignore her need to leave, Amy said, “Let’s just not decide for—a week or so.” Both of them were giving satisfied nods.
Amelia and Amy helped settle Harvey in his room, and then they went with Matthew to the trading post.
Bill Whiteside, the owner of the trading post, said, “Come here. I’ll point you the way. There’s a woman down by the church.” He went to the door and gestured toward the tall adobe church with the sharp peaked roof. “Her name is Maria, and she’s willing to take you in.”
He turned with a grin. “Matter of fact, she made that very plain to me just as soon as she saw the wagons pull out.” He eyed Eli’s crutches and added, “I’ll get the wagon and take you down there. Might as well get you settled before the commotion begins.”
Matthew came across the room. “I’ll be glad to help all I can. Ma’am,” he said, addressing Amy, “what are you going to do about the horses?”
“You can pasture them here with my team,” Bill offered. Amy nodded and turned to follow him. He took the reins of one of the mares and led the way to the corral. “I’ll hang your tack in here with mine.” As he lifted the saddles from the mares, she saw his curious glance and guessed he had questions she didn’t want to face.
Her throat tightened and she turned toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Whiteside. I appreciate the help you’re giving us. My father’s leg seems to be healing nicely, so we’ll be on the road soon. He had an accident—his wagon rolled on Raton Pass nearly two months ago.” She walked ahead of him to the trading post.
As Bill helped Eli into the wagon, Amy said, “What did you mean when you mentioned getting us settled before the commotion begins?”
He glanced down at her. “Penitentes.” He flicked the reins and looked at her again. “I see you don’t know anything about them. Religious folk. Every year about this time they get together and have their own little crucifixion.”
Amy gasped, “Crucifixion! How horrible.”
“Well, it gives a white man the creeps, but—well, stick around for a couple of days and you’ll see what I mean.”
Down behind the church, they followed Bill into the adobe-walled courtyard. A dark-haired woman was sweeping the packed earth with a twig broom. As Amy stepped through the open gate, the woman stopped her sweeping and came toward them. “Maria, these are the Randolphs.”
“Sí señor,” she nodded and turned to Eli. “Welcome. I will show you the way.”
To Amy it was like reliving the trip into New Mexico. The memory of that warm happy time scalded her eyes with tears. She was seeing identical whitewashed walls, with a conical fireplace built into one corner. The firewood was positioned in the fireplace, stacked neatly on end. High above their heads on the wall was a scrap of shiny tin. It was opposite the tiny window, where it could catch and reflect the light.
After the woman left them in the hut, Amelia asked, “Why does this cabin make you unhappy?”
Amy managed a laugh, saying, “It’s just like all the other huts we stayed in. Did you notice the string of peppers hanging close up under the eaves?”
That night Amy spread her blankets on the floor next to the fireplace, conscious only of sudden deep fatigue and the need to escape into sleep.
The next morning when a rooster crowed, Amy heard her father hobble out of the hut, but she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. It was a signal to rise, and Amy knew it was morning. She could only bury her face in the blankets and moan.
She heard the rustle of her mother’s skirts. Amelia stepped across the blankets as she moved between the fireplace and the table.
With a sigh, Amy carefully rolled over and opened her eyes. “Mother,” she murmured, fighting down the nausea as she tried to lift her head. “Oh, Mother, I feel so terrible. What did I eat?”
Amelia knelt beside her and felt Amy’s forehead. “Amy, what is wrong?”
“My stomach.”
“But you haven’t eaten—last night you scarcely touched your supper.” She rocked back on her heels. Amy opened her eyes again. She saw the concern on Amelia’s face, the beginning frown. Amy rolled away with a moan, but Amelia’s hand was insistent. “Amy, look at me. Are you pregnant?”
Slowly Amy opened her eyes. “Oh, Mother, is that what is wrong with me? A baby?” She blinked at the tears spilling over. Amelia gathered her close and rocked her in her arms.
“There, darling. I’m here. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.”
“Daniel—”
Eli hobbled into the hut and leaned over the two of them. “Amy, what’s happened? Are you crying?”
“She’s fine, Eli. Or at least she will be after breakfast. Eli, what do you think of being a grandfather?”
He was silent for a minute and as Amy tried to lift her head, he asked, “Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?” He headed for the door while Amy and her mother stared at each other.
“Amy, don’t give up now,” Amelia urged gently. “Hope, and keep hoping—for Daniel, for you, for the little one.”
“Little one,” she murmured slowly. She was still struggling with tears. “Maybe that’s all I’ll have of Daniel now.”