Amy skipped from rock to rock, climbing the side of the gulch. Swinging her water pail, she sang softly, “Lost my partner, what’ll I do?” Halfway up, she stopped and turned to look back.
Gregory Gulch was lined by a tumble of rickety cabins, spindly corrals, and dirty flapping tents. As far as she could see, both up and down the narrow slit of a canyon, the crude dwellings were visible.
Wind tossed strange yellow dust into her face and she rubbed at it. “Central City, ha! Miners’ dump number one. No wonder Aunt Maude can’t do anything except scrub and complain. Fifteen thousand men, but not a one interested in anything except getting his gold—poor Father.”
She turned to hop across the rocks again. Now her voice was mournful as she sang, “What’ll I do… Skip to my lou, my darling…. I’ll get another one, pretty one too. Skip to my lou, my darling.” She jumped sideways, “Oops!”
“You’ll do, you’ll do.” Came the voice nearly under her feet. The miner stood up, shook the water and gravel out of his gold pan and grinned at her. “Hey! you’re not an Indian princess. Golden hair and blue eyes. I declare. They told me I must dig the gold out of the mountain.”
Amy moved carefully away from his dripping pan while she scrambled for something witty to say. Feeling as shy as the little ground squirrels, she scooted to the top of the rock, her bare toes testing each step.
The fellow was still grinning up at her. She watched his brown hair being caught and tossed by the wind. His eyes were just as brown—like a friendly squirrel’s. She guessed he was shy, according to his bashful grin.
Amy began to relax. Aunt Maude’s warned about these miners. Woman hungry, she says. But he’s not cocky like the ones in town.
He squatted down and scooped up another pan of water and gravel. Amy eased forward onto her knees and bent over to watch. There was something nagging at her, something half forgotten. He looked familiar. She shrugged and asked, “Have you found any gold today?”
“Today? No. Pa’s having me try all the streams up high. Has an idea that we’ll be led to a rich strike.”
“Aunt Maude’s not going to like that.” Amy said. Seeing the curious glance she added, “She always tells me to go up high, up where the water springs fresh out of the mountain.” Amy rattled the bucket.
Peering into the stream, she added, “Since coming to the diggings, she’s had me get the water up here. It’s so good even Aunt Maude can’t fault it. Sparkles without a speck of mud. At least it did until you came along.” They were both looking at the trail of cloudy water moving away from his gold pan.
She grinned at his dismay. He reached for the pail, saying, “I’ll fill it upstream. Guess that’s the least I can do.”
She asked, “You’ve just come?”
“I was going to ask about you. We’ve been here since June. Rushed in with all the others.”
June? Could he be the fellow I saw in Denver City, listening to Brother Fisher preach? “We’ve just come from Denver City. Had to stay until the presiding elder assigned a circuit to Father. He’s Eli Randolph.” She could see it all meant nothing to him; still, he seemed familiar.
“I’m Amy Randolph; my father is the preacher with the Methodist Episcopal Church. You know the Nebraska-Kansas Conference sent in missionaries.”
His brown eyes were studying her. “Pleased to meet you. I’d heard there was a preacher in town.” There was a question in his eyes, but she let him talk. “I’m Daniel Gerrett. There’s just my pa and me. We’re kinda footloose, and Pa’s had a hankering to try his hand at mining.”
Amy looked at the stream again, regretfully. “I didn’t think a miner would waste his time messing up this trickle of water with his gold panning. It’s so steep even a mule couldn’t cross that stream without washing downhill. What would you do if you did find gold up here?”
“Well, I’d try to be careful. I’d also look for a mule with short legs on the mountain side of him. You’ll be happy to know I’m moving on tomorrow. Not a fleck of gold dust, so there’s no sense lingering. Here, I’ll go after water for you. It’s time to head down the mountain.”
On the last steep hill, Amy moved ahead, hopping from stone to stone, working her way down the mountainside. He came right behind her, moving cautiously, guarding the precious liquid. Amy dared not take her eyes off the trail until the track ended at the road.
The young miner carefully set the pail of water at the edge of the trail. Still breathing heavily, Amy found a rock and sat down. She glanced at the fellow, seeing his shabby shirt and dusty dungarees. Not much of a Prince Charming.
She sighed and turned to look down the hill. “I’m obliged for the help. I can get it home easy now. I’ve been doing it all along.” He chose a rock and sat down. Trying to think of something to say, Amy concentrated on the view of the mining town scattered out below. She pointed to the sprawl of little shacks in the distance. “I hear they call that Mountain City.” He nodded, watching her curiously.
Then he said, “Have I seen you somewhere?”
She answered quickly, “Was it Denver City? But you said you’d been here since June.”
“Pa and I were down there a month ago.”
“That was it.” Amy rushed on, “I saw you on the street, going down to listen to the preachers, didn’t I?”
He studied her closely and blinked. “In the dark I’d decided—that is, until you pulled yourself up tall, I thought—” He blinked again. Of course, Amy thought. You figured I was a baby. Like everyone else.
She looked off into the distance. “Pikes Peak or bust,” she muttered. She cocked her head to listen to the awesome sounds echoing up the valley—the braying of a mule team, the clatter of a heavy wagon coming up the rocky road. She could hear the strident voice of the wagonmaster cursing at his team. The words made her blush.
A new sound arose—the clang of iron against stone, and above it rose the excited voices of men. She looked toward the narrow neck of the town, down Gregory Gulch way. “Mountain City’s busting with excitement. That means someone’s had a good day at the diggings, and I’m guessing they’ll all be heading for Joe’s place to celebrate. Poor Father. A preacher’s life is hard enough without having to fight gold fever as well as the devil.”
Even as Amy spoke, she realized her words were empty of real pity. She glanced at the fellow and added, “It still seems like a dream, coming across the plains.” She tried to visualize the little Kansas town with its serene, predictable life. As she choked off the half-lonesome sigh, she admitted to herself that even in Lawrence she had been lonesome. “I guess,” she said slowly, “what all womenfolk are wishing for is just a spot where we can find the home feeling.”
“Your mother is having a hard time? If mine were alive, I suppose she’d feel the same.”
Amy felt the loneliness caving in upon her. Right now she didn’t want to talk about mothers. She looked at the knobby wrists hanging out the fellow’s shirt. He was young. Amy asked hesitantly, “Did you go to church back home?”
He was silent a moment. “No. My mother did. Seems none of us young’uns had the heart to after she died.” Then he added, “Everyone’s grown and got his own home now, except for me.”
Shivering slightly in the crisp mountain air, Amy made her way down among the rocks and scrubby juniper. Clusters of mountain sunflowers, no taller than the span of her hand, prickled against her bare feet.
The late afternoon shadows were creeping up the sides of the hill. “Men’ll begin swarming up from the creek. Bending over the sluice boxes since the earliest light of the day—they want gold pretty bad.”
She shrugged, staring down at the tiny shacks below her. Night made them come to life. She watched a shabby miner enter the first shack.
Amy pointed, saying, “It’s a wonder these little places hold so many.” Daniel looked at the cabins and nodded.
“I’ll have to admit”—she paused, wondering how he would respond—”I’ve been tempted to put my eye to the crack in the door to see where all those fellows sit.” Daniel threw back his head and laughed.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “I just didn’t expect that of you.” His eyes sparkled and he grinned. She grinned back, feeling nearly as if she had a friend.
Now they were walking singlefile, making room for the miners on the street. Already she could hear the rattle of dice and the crack of cards coming from the saloon shacks.
“It’s not like home. There the suppertime smells hang in the air until any young’un would be glad to run home. Around here the only thing you can smell is that awful whiskey.”
With a start, Amy glanced at the sky. Aunt Maude would be fussing if she delayed another minute.
Aunt Maude. At the rattle of pebbles behind Amy, she winced, wondering how her Aunt would react to the fellow carrying the water? Against the half-light of sunset, the figure striding behind her loomed straw-thin and tree-high.
Aunt Maude had warned her against speaking to miners. Amy hurried her bare feet smartly down the trail, trying to forget the sharp rocks.
“Wait up, little one.”
Amy quickened her steps, and gasped, “Oh!” The rock was sharp and she blinked back tears while she stood on one foot.
He set down the pail. She heard the pleasant rumble in his voice as he asked. “Tyke, want me to look at it?” He started to bend close and then straightened. He sounded embarrassed as he said, “I keep forgetting you’re not just a little one. I guess it’s that tow hair all curled like a baby.”
Amy straightened her slight body and looked up at him. For a moment she found herself wishing her fifteen-year-old body came nearer resembling those women who stepped daintily down the streets of Denver City. The brown eyes of the youth met hers. For a moment longer, they looked at each other. He smiled down at her. Somehow she knew he was really seeing her now.
Amy tried to deepen her voice as she said, “Thank you, but I can manage now. It was nice meeting you.”
Slowly he said, “Well, I haven’t been to services yet. Pa and I are keeping busy now. On weekends we’re doing a little digging. But I hope I get to see you again.”
She nodded. “Digging? Do you think there’s lots of gold in the hills—just waiting to be found?”
“Oh, sure.” His voice was careless. “But it will take a lot of work.”
Amy hesitated on the dusty road, moving her toe around in circles. “Dirty place, isn’t it?” He nodded. She was reluctant to leave. Almost against her will, she found herself echoing the words going around. “They say a fellow with any lick of gumption can be a millionaire.”
There was a curious light in his eyes. “Is that what you want?”
She grinned, “It would be fun to find gold.” When he didn’t reply, she added, “Three weeks we’ve been here, and there’s changes. Take this road. Ruts it was, and now—” She poked at the wild grasses and woody weeds. The light soil became airborne on the slightest breeze.
With a sigh she reached for the pail and he asked, “Where do you live?”
Amy pointed to the log cabin at the end of the street. “There. It’s home and church building. But no grander than the rest.”
“That means dirt floor and sheet metal stove.”
She nodded, “Aunt Maude took one look at it all and said, “’Tis well I lived this long. Now I know what it means to suffer for the gospel.”
The serious young giant bent down to Amy’s level. “And what was the answer to that?”
“Father gave her his stern look, saying, ‘Well then, dear sister, all the others are suffering for the gospel too, even the ones lining up at the bar every night, since they all have dirt floors.’”
The fellow chuckled and started away. “Miss Randolph, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Might be I’ll see you in church.”
She watched him go down the street. In the dimming light she thought his hair looked like maple leaves, frost-buffed into shining brown. “But it’s on a cornstalk body, and that ruins it all,” she muttered. “No Prince Charming.”
She reached her own front door just as it began its creaking, groaning, thump. Abruptly it was wrenched into place and pried open.
Aunt Maude’s sharp eye and sharper nose appeared around the door. “‘Twill be a mercy when we get a decent door to fill this hole. Who was that?” Her eyes transferred their glare to Amy.
“A miner.” Amy couldn’t help gloating over the look of horror on her aunt’s face as she reached for the pail and pulled Amy through the door.
“Do I have to start all over again, telling you all the reasons a young lady is to stay away from that element?”
“I don’t think he had evil intentions, Aunty. He had a grip on the water bucket before he figured me to be past infancy.”
Maude snorted as she carried the pail to the bench beside the stove. “Father.” Amy’s voice lifted as she eased her way around the rough table centered in the middle of the cabin.
As he slowly raised his head, Amy noticed how heavily his hair was sprinkled with gray. Even the lines on his face seemed deeper. She chewed her lip. Why hadn’t she noticed that he was getting old? What if something should happen to him? She trembled and glanced at Aunt Maude.
Slowly Eli straightened and lowered the black Bible, keeping his finger in the book to mark his place as he looked at her. His lips moved soundlessly while his gaze focused far beyond the room.
Amy said, “On my way to the creek for water I saw the stage coming in from Auraria and Denver City. My, you should have seen the fancy ladies on board, laughing like youngsters at a picnic.”
“Daughter, be careful of the names you give out. A group of young ladies on an outing needn’t be labeled. Take a lesson from our Lord and be generous with charity.”
Aunt Maude turned from the stove and shook her wooden spoon at her brother. “Now, Eli, you’re acting like a father, not a preacher. If she’s labeled them, she’s at least on guard, and there’s more grace to be had clinging to the middle of the road than slipping off the edge.”
“’Specially in the mountains.” They didn’t hear her, and Amy turned away from the pair. She was still thinking of the calm brown eyes of Daniel Gerrett as she studied the crowded cabin.
Curtains made of cheap canvas hid the line of bunks built into the side of the cabin. Most of the Randolph household goods lay still packed in the trunks and barrels lining the wall behind the little sheet metal stove.
With a wistful sigh she turned back to her father. “Is there a chance we’ll be getting a regular church building soon? Back home in the little white church, we were somebody. Here we hold services out of doors or crammed in among the packing barrels when it rains. And if anyone comes to hear the preaching, it’s a miner with a dirty neck. It almost seems they’re all dodging us like you’re giving out poison.”
“It’s different here.” Eli’s voice had dropped to its sad, reflective rumble. Amy was beginning to regret the words. Sadness always seemed to lurk just beneath the surface. He straightened in his chair and unexpectedly grinned at her. “Sometimes the best thing that can happen to a person is just moving out of the rut he’s been in and learning to look at life differently.”
Wonderingly Amy stepped close to her father and studied his face by the glow of fire in the little stove. She was ready to approve his words when Aunt Maude snapped, “This soup’s about done.”
Her father smiled and shrugged. “Remember, Amy, it’s the bishop who decides where a man will best serve God and then sends him out. Perhaps it’s even more than a human decision.” She saw the dreamy, fleeting hope in his eyes before the sadness came again. “No matter. These mining camps need the Gospel. And get it they will. God will open their hearts. Now let’s have evening prayers before that soup is ruined.”
Amy stifled a sigh and dragged the crude benches into position in front of the fire.