Daniel tipped his head to one side and looked up at the square of daylight. Since dawn the sounds coming through the slit of a window were different. Now hope began to replace lethargy as he listened to brisk footsteps and the thump of a broom.
Quickly he stepped up on the edge of the wooden shelf that served as his bunk. By stretching and pressing his face against the stone wall, he was able to see adobe walls and green trees through the bars.
Fort Marcy’s prison left a great deal to be desired; but today Daniel was grateful for bars instead of glass, for boards instead of a soft bed.
Since early morning he had been aware of a puzzling rustle of sound sweeping through the fort. Now standing on the bunk he began to comprehend the changes. The lazy walk of the guard had been transformed into crisp, firm steps. A moment later he realized cheerful laughter had become clipped commands, and indolence had sharpened into excitement.
He stepped down off the bunk with a wry smile, realizing that, as usual, his breakfast was late arriving.
When it was shoved through the bars, the guard apologized, “Sorry. The cook is busy preparing for the bigwigs.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Don’t know for certain; Major Chivington said—”
“Chivington!” Daniel cried. “Hey, I asked you fellows to tell me when he got here.”
“Well, he just came two days ago. It’s fer certain he has more important things to do than review your complaints.”
Daniel sighed and tried to throttle his impatience. “Well, tell me what’s been going on.”
“Sibley’s been pushed pretty near out the other end of the territory by Colonel Canby. Does that make you glad or sad?”
Daniel sighed and again refused the hook. He asked, “How’s the war going in the States?”
“Terrible.” The grin faded from the guard’s face. “Lincoln’s just about to lose it there. One good thing, at least they’re saying so, General McClellan’s now heading up the Army of the Potomac. Some are saying that’ll tighten things up a bit.”
Daniel looked into the soldier’s bleak eyes and said softly, “I pray every day—” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “This slaughter between brothers is a stench and a blemish before God.”
“It’s also scaring us to death,” the fellow muttered. “You Reb sympathizers ever think what it’s going to be like if you get control?”
The same old protest boiled to Daniel’s lips, but he vented his frustration in a quick pace across the cell. He turned to say, “Well, we can throw out the Constitution as a start, because it won’t be easy to live with. The way it reads now, freedom must be for all.” After a brooding moment, Daniel said, “But regardless who wins, I’ve got the job of preaching it straight.”
The guard was scratching his head, a bewildered frown on his face as he asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“That God’s Word is open to only one meaning. There’s something wrong with the way our fellowmen are learning to read if it’s possible to see two different versions of God’s will in the Scripture.”
The guard blinked. “You’re certain they are readin’ it?” Without waiting for the reply, the soldier backed away. “I’ll tell Chivington you want ta parley.”
Daniel finished his breakfast and began to pace the cell. The monotony of pacing freed his mind, and his lonesome thoughts turned to Amy. Going to his wooden bunk, he looked down at the scratches he had made in the wood. “Three and a half weeks. Has it been only that long? Seems an age since I left Fort Union.” He thought about Amy, trying to paint his memory afresh with her laughing face.
Those first days of riding the trail together had been wonderful. He recalled the sunshine, the warm air, and Amy with her blond hair stuffed in his old hat. Daniel began to pace again, this time hard and fast, drumming his boots impatiently against the floor.
While he struggled with the lump in his throat, he pounded his hands together. “Matt,” he groaned, “why—”
The question died on his lips. The searching Presence held him. Slowly Daniel sank down on the bunk and dropped his head into his hands. The Scripture was there. How often he had glibly quoted the words, As ye have done it unto one of the least of these…ye have done it unto me.
“Lord, it’s easy to say that while sitting in front of your own fire.” He looked at the gray concrete walls and reflected, “Guess this is where the words have to be proved out in life. Also I guess I’d never expected this to happen.”
He was still sitting there when the outer door clanged. There were footsteps, two sets of them, and there was the clink of spurs. Slowly Daniel got to his feet. Chivington’s astonished face was pressed against the bars.
“Daniel Gerrett—well, I never!” He addressed the guard beside him, “How did a missionary of the Methodist Episcopal Church happen to get stuck in prison?” The guard rubbed his slack jaw and didn’t answer.
Chivington opened the bars quickly. “Come along, Parson. I’ll have you outta here in a hurry. Where’s your wife?”
“Only the dear Lord knows,” Daniel muttered, reaching for his coat. “I’m hoping she’s headed for Colorado Territory with her mother and father.”
When they stepped out into the open air, Daniel paused and took a deep breath. There was a sympathetic nod from Chivington. “Never know until we’ve been there, huh?” Daniel nodded and Chivington said, “Come this way. I’ll sign whatever needs to be signed and you can be on your way.”
Together they walked into the low-ceilinged adobe building and were pointed to the commandant’s office. While the officer poised the pen over the sheet of paper, he asked, “Sir, what is your business in the territory?”
“I am a missionary in the Methodist Episcopal Church—” Daniel began and then paused. The officer still held the pen suspended while he studied Chivington.
Chivington leaned across the desk. “Why don’t you just put down the information and sign it. Don’t ask any more questions. Sometimes war does funny things to people.” The two men were still nodding at each other as Daniel picked up his coat.
At the door Chivington remarked, “If you want some company, there’s a detachment leaving for Colorado Territory via Taos. Might find they have an extra horse.” He paused and then added, “The Indians are restless right now. Give my regards to Dyer.”
****
It was spring, definitely spring, even in the mountains. Daniel couldn’t get enough of the sunshine, the odor of new life, and the sound of rushing, snow-fed water.
The troops from the Colorado Volunteer Army were just as eager to get home as Daniel, and they rode hard. Daniel discovered they were a silent bunch for the most part. Their haggard faces, fresh scars, and tattered fragments of blue uniform told all that needed to be said. Over the supper fires, with only flickers of light on their faces to underscore their terse stories of battle, Daniel began to fill in the gaps of the battle story as he knew it.
Soberly the men admitted it was Chivington’s action at Johnson’s ranch that had decided the battle. Together they reviewed the agony of it all. And the glory. They bragged, “I heard a Reb saying they’d a won the territory if it hadn’t been for the Pikes Peakers. Didn’t know a good scrap until they met us.”
“In all fairness,” came another voice from the shadows, “I learned Canby’s men hadn’t drawn a wage fer the past year. Doesn’t do much fer a fella’s view of himself when Washington can’t support him.”
“They sure rallied once we got Sibley’s men on the run.” He turned to Daniel, “See, the Confederates holed up in Albuquerque with Sibley, licking their wounds and trying to regroup. That’s when Canby put them to the rush to get home.” He chuckled. “Heard they buried the Confederate field pieces in the middle of the plaza down there. Also heard when Canby came down with his cannon, they didn’t put up too much resistance. Don’t blame them. It’s hard to fight when adobe bricks are falling on your head.”
From back in the shadows a voice joined the rest. “I heard the Confederates talked the Indians into joining the fight. That’s scary. Guess we had more to be fearing than we knew. Indians. If they’d fight in New Mexico, they’d fight in Colorado.”
The day they reached Pike’s stockade, Daniel shook hands with the men and watched them ride out for Fort Garland. “I’ll get this mare to Denver right off,” he called after them as he turned toward home.
With scarcely a glance, he rode past all the little settlements that were part of his circuit. Pressed by time and the thoughts of Amy at home, at night he chose to camp beside the trail. Thinking of the welcome he would receive at any fireside, he shook his head. “Right now I’m more willing to risk Indians than the comfort and delay of a settler’s cabin.”
The day he rode through the long valley toward Oro City, it snowed. Huddling into his coat, Daniel reflected on the capricious weather. “Wouldn’t be Colorado Territory without snow pushing at spring. Hope Amy and the folks are safe at home.” He nudged the horse again.
It was the middle of the afternoon when Daniel turned up California Gulch. He could hear the clunk of the stampmill and the hollow thump of wood as the rush of water and rock shot through the sluices. Several of the men along the stream straightened to lean on their shovels and wave as he passed up the road.
Before he reached the cabin, he sensed the lifelessness of the place. There was no sign of smoke coming from the chimney. Untrodden snow still buried the path to the door.
As he led the mare to the shed behind the house, he eyed the chicken coop. “From the looks of the thing, someone’s either rescued the lot or Father Dyer ate them all before he left.” Daniel rubbed down the mare and fed her. Dreading the empty cabin, he delayed until his hands and feet began to tingle with cold.
As he walked around the cabin to the door, he stopped and stared. A wagon had backed up the slope to the door. He could see the wheels were blocked. As Daniel hurried toward the wagon, four men began wrestling an enormous packing crate out of the wagon. “Wait,” he called, “you’ve made a mistake.”
One fellow turned and shoved his cap back on his head. “Aren’t you the parson? Well, I thought so. We’ve had this thing in the storage fer a month now. Jamison’s been itching to get it outta there. When he saw you coming up the trail he sez, ‘There’s the parson. Get that dad bloomed thing outta here so’s I can move without knocking my knees off.’ I sez, ‘Sure, Mr. Jamison,’” He shrugged. “Here we are. It’s your baby now.”
Daniel went to open the door. “What is it?”
The two grunted and groaned as they shoved the crate across the room. It nearly filled the cabin.
The fellow turned. “Want I should knock that crate apart?”
Daniel nodded and the man seized his hammer and a crowbar. With two whacks the side dropped off. The drayman stepped back and his helper tugged at the wadding.
“Say, that’s pretty nice fer these parts.” There was new respect in the eyes of the drayman as he looked up at Daniel. “Not anybody else, not even the house down the way, has one of these pianos.”
Daniel recovered his voice. “Where’s the paperwork on this? You’ve got the wrong name. We didn’t order—”
The man thrust the sheaf of papers into Daniel’s hand. The writing spelled it out. The order was addressed to Mrs. Daniel Gerrett. The order had originated in St Louis, Missouri, but at the bottom there was another name: Lucas Tristram.
The man was watching him. “Ever’thing all right?”
“I guess this is the place,” Daniel said slowly, still trying to think his way through the muddle of facts.
“Guess we’d better be on our way. That crate is big enough to make a chicken coop. Might as well get some good out of it all.”
Daniel carried in wood and built a fire. While the cabin was warming, he dug around, trying to find something to eat. “Beans, cornmeal, a can of peaches. Mighty poor pickin’s for a man who owns a bright, shiny new piano. At least his wife does, a gift from an old beau.”
All the implications behind the gift of the instrument began to build up in his mind. Looking at the flour and lard in his hands, he guessed he wouldn’t be able to swallow a flapjack.
There was a tap on the door and he went to jerk it open. “Mrs. Withrop—come in.” She did. Still holding the bundle she carried, Lettie slowly walked around the piano. The questions were big in her eyes as she faced Daniel.
“The Missus not back yet?”
“She’s with her ma and pa.”
She nodded her head in the direction of the piano. “Sure beats all. Guess it’s a good thing I took it upon myself to bring you some fresh bread and eggs from your own chicks. I’ll have Hank bring over the chickens tomorrow.”
“No,” Daniel said hastily. “Just keep them and use the eggs. I’ll come after them later. It’s getting close to conference time, so there’s a trip to Denver—”
Lettie nodded happily. “Glad to oblige. When will the Missus be back?”
“I don’t know. Her father’s had an accident. That’s one of the reasons we’ve been gone so long. When did Father Dyer leave?”
“Afore the last snow. About two weeks now. He’s going over to Mosquito for a time. But he said he’d be back shortly.” Nodding her head, Lettie started for the door.
The questions were still big in her eyes. Daniel watched her hurry down the slope, glancing behind just once as she passed her own turnoff and moved down the hill to the neighbor’s house.
Finally he shrugged and turned to face the piano. Even in the dim light, the dark shiny piano gleamed. “Well, I didn’t answer the questions she didn’t ask. Guess I’ll have to leave that to Amy. I reckon Mrs. Withrop won’t be the only one with a question. Might say, dear wife, I’ll have a few of my own.”