“Hello, water lady. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.” It was Daniel Gerrett, his eyes shining.
Amy ducked her head, “I—hello.” She tried to find words. “Been a long time.” She looked at the wind ruffling his hair and lifting the corner of his collar. Her heart yearned in a way she couldn’t understand. She swallowed hard and said, “We’ve melted snow for water since the creek froze up. What you been up to?”
“Pa and I have been getting ore with good color. He’s gone into Denver to have it assayed and to get some dynamite.”
Amy shivered. “That’s exciting—and scary. Blasting to get the gold. They’ve been shooting the mountain down in Black Hawk. Had big boulders rolling down the slopes.”
Daniel shifted uneasily and said, “I know. There’s more enthusiasm than sense. But there’s good things happening. Heard a sharp-looking fellow’s buying up every hole in the ground showing color.” He paused, adding soberly, “Some say he’s pushing too hard, that he’s strong-arming his way, bullying people to sell when they shouldn’t.” Daniel shrugged. “I’d like to see him offer Pa a sum.”
“What do you mean about him pushing?”
“Talked one fellow into digging his tunnel too deep. Final blast brought the whole thing in on him. Happened over in Russell Gulch.”
Amy searched the troubled eyes before she asked, “You don’t like mining, do you?”
“Not much. Pa’s happy about the whole thing—has a dream of being rich.” Amy was trying to find something to say when Daniel kicked at a rock and said, “Pa’s having trouble with the bottle. Seems being rich is the last thing he needs. Besides, I don’t think he’s cautious enough.”
Slowly Amy said, “You’re mining just—to be with him?” He nodded.
“That’s—” Amy gulped and grinned up at him. “Nice of you.” She shrugged, conscious of her heart beating wildly. “Even Father would approve. A fellow going along with his pa like that.”
He turned away, but Amy had seen his eyes. Daniel was worried. She whispered, “Blasting. Somehow it’s exciting until it’s someone you know.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to get you fussed.” He reached out to ruffle her hair. “How’s the church business doing?”
She could only look at him, wondering if he ever thought about their last conversation. She recalled the glib way she answered his questions. How could she admit her own dark feelings? Faith. Father preached about believing—but how did one do it so it worked?
His question was waiting. She looked up, “Pretty good since Aunt Clara stirred up the men. The way they streamed in made Aunt Maude say she probably threatened to quit washing for them.” She paused, then said, “We haven’t seen you.”
He shrugged, “I’m afraid your aunt would chase me out with a broom.”
“Not if you were just coming to church.” His grin was crooked. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I didn’t choose my aunt.”
“But she’s choosing your friends.” His voice was bitter and Amy’s heart lightened. “I’m not bragging about being much, but seems there’s not enough people around to be that picky.”
“Picky? Daniel Gerrett—” The hasty words were left hanging. How could she say what she thought—even admit the times she had strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of him? Would a nice girl say she was starting to like his bean-pole build and his eyes that seemed ready to swallow her? Amy hesitated, recalling the harsh words Aunt Maude had used on him. “Aunt Maude—doesn’t have anything to take up her time, so she fusses about me.” Then she added brightly, “Well, I guess what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Daniel looked startled, and Amy felt her cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not doing anything wrong. Being friends and talking with you out here on the mountainside isn’t a bad thing, and if she doesn’t know—” Daniel frowned and Amy shrugged again.
With a sigh, he picked up Amy’s pail. “Well, come on. I’d deserve a bad name if I walk off without helping a lady get a pail of water.”
Lady. Amy grinned up at him as they swung up the trail to the gulch where the stream gushed through the rocks and spilled into a basin. She could see Aunt Clara’s cabin roof sticking up over the next rise.
“About Aunt Maude,” Amy said slowly. “I think if it weren’t for me, she’d be taking you home for dinner.”
He grinned. “It isn’t Aunt Maude I want to see.”
“But you could talk to Father, ask the questions I bumbled over.” He shot a quick glance at her, and the dark expression was back. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I never say the right things.”
Awkwardly he thumped her shoulder. “Aw, Amy, don’t mind me.”
“Daniel, doesn’t it help to know others have miseries too?”
“No, it just makes it worse.” He stopped on the trail and looked down into her eyes. “My mother didn’t seem to have miseries, but I was too young to ask questions back then.” He walked a few steps more and Amy hurried after him. He said, “Guess I shouldn’t dump my feelings. But somehow I’ve got a need. I’m restless; I want to understand life. Isn’t God supposed to matter more’n anything?”
Amy nodded, desperate to say the important things. But more than that, she sensed Daniel was close to being a friend. “Let’s go see Aunt Clara. I have a feeling she can help.”
He turned to look at her with a question in his eyes. She hastily said, “Aunt Maude would approve. She thinks Aunt Clara is a wonder.” She turned and pointed, “See, that’s her roof poking through the trees.”
He left the pail beside the stream and Amy led the way.
Aunt Clara’s door was open. Amy could hear the thump of her iron and the creak of the old ironing board as they approached. They could also hear her voice, with another chiming in as Amy pounded on the door. “Amazing grace—how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me—”
“Come in, child, before you knock the door down.”
Barney Ford was sitting at Aunt Clara’s table. One foot was resting on her chair. Amy looked at the white bandage swathing his foot. “Hurt it?”
“The Lord was merciful or he’d be minus a foot.”
Barney added, “Axe. Only a slight cut, but the doctor here says stay off it a day or so.”
As he spoke Amy studied his face. She was surprised to see how light his skin was, while his eyes were gray. When he grinned, she blushed. “I’m sorry. This is the first time I’ve seen you up close. Why haven’t you come to services with Aunt Clara?”
“I will. She’s not only convinced me I’m welcome, but that the Lord’s requested my presence.”
“If I had my eyes closed, I’d think you were a white man. Are you a runaway slave?”
“Amy!” Daniel had her arm. “Don’t ask that.”
Slowly Amy backed away from Daniel, looked from one dark face to the other. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was very thoughtless of me. As usual, I said the first thing that popped into my mind.”
Daniel said, “I’ve heard enough in Denver City to make me think Pikes Peak land isn’t far enough away from what’s going on in the states.”
Aunt Clara returned to thumping her iron on the white shirt and Barney Ford said, “Don’t fuss at the little lady. I could see her perplexity. My eyes and skin bring up questions. My mother was a slave; my father was the master.”
“And he speaks like a white man because his mammy raised him so.” Aunt Clara reached for another shirt. “He’s also read every book this side of the Mississippi.”
“Not quite, my friend,” Barney grinned at Clara. “I have the advantage of a good many friends who’ve helped me make my way. None are any better than this good woman. She’s rented me sleeping quarters in her woodshed for the price of a pile of logs.”
“Barney’s been telling me about some of his other friends. He’s come from Pennsylvania.” The man glanced quickly at Aunt Clara as she continued, “There’s a host of people out there with a soul burden to help their brothers, regardless of the color of their skin.”
Daniel stirred on his stool and leaned forward. Amy heard the note of excitement in his voice as he said, “Are you talking about the underground railroad? About people like Garrison, John Brown, and the Coffins?”
Barney nodded, “Others, too. The Coffins I’ve met. A finer couple you’ll never know. Grew up in North Carolina, and know firsthand how the slaves are treated. He and his wife moved to Indiana, started a store there in Newport. Wasn’t long until they were sheltering and feeding every runaway slave that came their way.”
Aunt Clara added quickly, “There’s others.”
“A couple of years before we left Kansas,” Amy said, “John Brown and his men started a fuss in Pottawotamie. There were five men killed. They said it was revenge for the attack in Lawrence. That happened before we moved there, but they still talk about it. I can’t understand it all.”
Aunt Clara sighed and shook her head. “Draw a line. On one side there’s people who would die for another man’s welfare. On the other side there’s people getting rich by controlling men. ’Tain’t the love of God in it.”
Daniel shifted restlessly. “Some of the white men argue they’ve a God-given right to own slaves as long as they are responsible for their welfare—like children who’ll never grow up.”
“Do you agree with that?” Barney asked.
“I haven’t had much education, especially in the Bible,” Daniel said slowly, frowning over his words. “But it seems to me that men are men, regardless of their color or birthplace. Seems, if we have a better position in life, we’re somehow obligated to make room there for anyone who wants to join us.”
“That’s the Christian thing,” Aunt Clara nodded again.
“Is it?” Daniel asked slowly. “I’ve been wondering—”
“Aunt Clara,” Amy broke in, “Daniel wants to be a Christian. I told him you would help.”
Slowly Aunt Clara placed her iron back on the stove and came around the ironing board. With hands on her hips she looked at Amy. “How come you aren’t tellin’ him what it takes?” Then she shifted her attention to Daniel.
“Why do you want to be a Christian? Is it because you’re intent on escaping hell fire and damnation, or is it something more?”
For a long time the room was silent. When Daniel finally lifted his head, he said, “I—I don’t rightly know. There’s just this big need. Sure, I’ve heard the street preachers giving it out about the wrath of God and hell. Sure, I’m scared of meeting God. Is there something more, some other reason?”
Aunt Clara went back to her ironing. Amy watched her shake out the starched shirt and pick up the iron. She was singing softly under her breath, “’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved…. When we’ve been there ten thousand years, we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise—”
She paused and looked at Daniel. “That song was written by a former slave trader. The Lord sure made a change in him, didn’t he? Seems a body needs to feel he wants change more’n anything, wants to live up to what the Lord has in mind for him.”
The afternoon sun was starting to slant in Aunt Clara’s window. Amy moved restlessly on her stool, and Daniel glanced up. “I—I think I’d better go,” she said softly.
Daniel stood up and said, “Thank you, Aunt Clara; you’ve given me something to think about.”
They reached the stream and the bucket. Daniel still hadn’t said a word. His heavy silence was making Amy uneasy, feeling as if something had been splintered for good.
She watched him dip the pail full of water. When he turned with a smile, Amy took a deep breath and grinned up at him. “So now you have the gospel according to Aunt Clara. Barney Ford seems interesting. I’d like to listen to him longer. Aunt Clara says he has a wife and child and that he’s working hard to get them out here.”
Daniel was really listening to her now, but there was still the need to bridge the distance between. He touched her arm, “Come on, it’s getting late.”
Desperation mounted, and she twisted her hands. “Daniel.”
He turned and waited, then finally asked, “What is it you want?”
“Want?” She studied his dark eyes, conscious of the distance widening. It was new, this feeling of having to snatch at something quickly before it slipped away. What did girls do? “Daniel—” He waited, then she gulped, “Well—kiss me.”
“Why?”
She was astonished at his curious question. “Because I’m sixteen. I’ve never had a fellow try to kiss me.”
“Well, I’m not trying now. I know better.” He was chuck-ling and Amy frowned, feeling silly and very young.
“Do you treat all the girls this way?”
“I’ve never had a girl. Wouldn’t know how to treat her if I did. The kissing might not be so bad, but I sure can’t risk another run-in with Aunt Maude.”
“Oh, Daniel!” Amy wailed. “You are impossible! You call me a lady, follow me up the mountain, and carry my water. I almost thought this was important.”
She saw his eyes. It was important, too important for a meaningless kiss. They walked in silence, with Amy still choking over the lump in her throat.
Just down the road Amy saw her father marching toward them, head down, striding up the rough trail. Amy glanced at the sky, then sighed with relief. “Father!”
Eli looked up, blinked. A confused, lost look was melting out of his face as he exclaimed, “Amy!” He reached for the pail. “Here, son, I’ll carry it. Good of you to rescue my daughter. I suppose the water pail is too heavy for her. Must remember.” Dismay swept through Amy. It was Father’s not-at-home voice and Daniel was as wooden to him as the pine trees.
Suddenly Father smiled at Daniel, and their hands came out. He said, “Join us for worship again, and bring your father.” He studied Daniel’s face a moment and turned to Amy. “Why don’t you hurry on home. I’ll bring the pail.”
Once Amy was out of sight, Eli turned to Daniel. Before he could speak, the youth blurted, “Sir, I think a lot of your daughter, and if you wouldn’t mind, I’d—well I’d like to see her—more.”
Eli chewed the corner of his mouth. “My daughter said you wanted to talk about becoming a Christian.” Daniel was nodding, not eagerly, just slowly, looking puzzled. Eli thought about Aunt Maude’s appraisal of the situation.
Glancing up at the youth, Eli spoke slowly. “I wouldn’t want you to get confused about all this. Sometimes a person makes a commitment to God for the wrong reasons. Seems to me it might be a good idea to go at life one step at a time.
“That way there won’t be any confusion over—motives.” He paused. “Later we can talk about your courting Amy.”
At the end of the day, Amy still didn’t know what it was like to be kissed, but without a doubt, Father liked Daniel. And there had been one second of special feeling when Daniel had looked at her. That was more important than anything else right now.
It was definitely spring. The roads had dried completely, and the supply wagon came more frequently. On a day especially warm and bright, it brought its most precious cargo yet—at least Amy thought so.
She was outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her head as she hung the wet towels and sheets on the line and listened to dogs barking and men shouting. Then she heard the wagon bumping slowly over the rocky road.
Aunt Maude heard it, too. She came to the door. “Sounds as if that fellow is driving like he’s afraid of breaking eggs.” The wagon came around the bend and they saw the towering bundle in the middle of the wagon. Two men were standing in the wagon beside straining ropes, and Aunt Maude snorted, “Like ants holding back a mountain. Don’t know what it is unless it’s the new stamp mill, but it’s sure precious.”
Amy pinned the last sheet to the line and said, “I’m going to walk down the road and watch.”
She reached the wagon just as the last swaddling robe was removed. Amy gasped, “A piano! A dark, shiny, mahogany piano. Just like the one at the hotel in Kansas.”
She held her breath as the men clustered around the wagon and lifted the piano across the dusty road to the new boardinghouse.
Aunt Clara came out of the store and walked up the street to stand beside her. “Piano. I see they’re moving it into the boardinghouse. Well, I declare. Mighty fancy. I would like to hear it myself, but I don’t suppose a flock of pretty ladies would invite an old darky to their fancy party just to listen to piano playing. I’d be willing to wash the dishes to hear a bit.”
“Oh,” Amy moaned, “do you suppose they would let me go see it? I’ve never touched a piano. Would they invite me?”
Aunt Clara glanced sharply at Amy. “Lands, you’re more of a child than I thought you were. Do you see?” She pointed to the two-story log building. “That’s a house of ill repute being started up here. You go in that place and I’ll help your pa and aunty skin you alive.”
“I don’t understand.”
Aunt Clara shrugged and lifted her hands sky-high. “Lord, what do I say now?” Looking at Amy she said, “My, how could they neglect your education?” She stretched out the word education; then Aunt Clara sighed and continued, “No wonder—Aunt Maude, bless her, she’s a frozen potato. Now come along, let’s get off this street before we all get sucked into sin.” She shoved the sack of beans into Amy’s hands and picked up the towering basket of laundry.
They started up the road toward Eureka Gulch. When Aunt Clara stopped to rest, Amy remembered the time she had come upon Aunt Clara beside the road, having a shouting spell.
Now her dark face was very sober. Bending toward Amy, she began, “Child, all those pretty ladies in the ruffled dresses were here to spy out the land. Those ones you’ve been eyeing and envying—they can lead you astray.”
“So they are ladies of the night. Dance-hall girls,” Amy answered quickly. “Aunt Clara, I wasn’t born yesterday. I just didn’t know they were truly moving into town. You know, I’m not interested in being led astray or anywhere else.
“There’s only one thing I want—to learn to play the piano. I’d be happy if I could just push those keys a few times.”
There were quick steps crunching through the rocks. With dismay Amy cried, “Oh, Aunt Maude.” Her aunt’s face was twisted into a frown until she spied Amy’s companion.
Still panting, Aunt Maude exclaimed, “Aunt Clara! I was afraid—I see she’s helping you. Amy, did you satisfy your curiosity? Why didn’t you come home?”
Amy shrugged and said, “It was a piano. They carried it into the new boardinghouse.”
Aunt Maude rocked back on her heels. “Piano!” she cried, flinging her hands high. “Piano! Lord, what will become of us all? So that’s the kind of boardinghouse it is. The devil himself has moved into town.”
Aunt Clara Brown spoke heavily, “Law, Missy, it isn’t the piano that’s going to get your girl into trouble. I’ve heard some pretty music come outta one. I’m guessing one of these days we’ll be seeing pianos right in the middle of church. Can’t be a detriment to worship if it’s teaching a body or two about singing the right notes.”
Amy pleaded, “Oh, Aunt Maude, even Aunt Clara thinks a piano is a good thing. If only I could learn to play!” Amy was still pushing her case as Eli came toward them. “Oh, Father! It’s a piano. They’ve moved it into the boardinghouse. If only I could learn to play it. Aunt Clara says—” She stopped midsentence. From his frown and the white line around his lips, Amy knew it didn’t matter what Aunt Clara thought.
With a sigh of resignation Amy sat down on the rock beside Clara. Wearily she said, “I know all about the dance-hall girls being bad, about them showing their legs and about the dances. I’ve been hearing about them forever. Does being in a building with dance-hall girls make a piano bad?”
She waited, staring up at them. While the anger surged through her, she forced a smile into place.
Suddenly she straightened. “What if there was a concert? Like the one back home. Remember when that man came and played? What if—”
Father’s voice was slow and weary as he said, “Come, Amy. It’s getting late.”
“I was helping Aunt Clara up the hill.” Slowly getting to her feet, Amy felt despair like a dash of cold water. Trying to find the heart to accept, she looked at Aunt Clara. The woman was blinking tears out of her eyes. For a moment Amy was comforted. She knew Aunt Clara understood, but she also knew the ache to touch the piano wouldn’t die.
“Child,” Aunt Clara murmured as she stacked the beans on top of the laundry basket. “You best go home. I can make it fine; see we’re nearly to the top of the hill.”
As Amy started down the hill after her father and aunt, she could hear the first tinkling notes from the piano. The joyful, lilting sound drifted through the streets. For a moment Amy closed her eyes, seeing her own fingers moving over the keys. She clenched her fists to shut out the ache in the tips of her fingers.
“Coming, Amy?” Her eyes popped open. Father was waiting, holding out his hand; surprisingly, she saw regret mingled with a strange pain. She hesitated a moment before allowing him to take her hand in his.