Amy stood on the ridge. Far below, Central City stretched out like a haphazard village children might erect in the sand.
As Amy took another step toward the edge of the gulch, she felt it crumble beneath her feet. Quickly she stepped back and watched soil and rocks roll down to the road below. Gingerly she sat down under the juniper tree. Lizzie’s head appeared just below her. “You throwing rocks at me?”
“Oh, Lizzie! After all the time you’ve spent teaching me to play the piano? I wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t know. The way you fussed about playing for the fellows, I expected you to roll me down the hill to get out of it.”
Lizzie dropped down beside Amy and fanned herself with the straw hat she carried. Amy studied her friend’s bright cheeks. “If I really wanted to get out of it, I’d just outrun you. That’s a little slope to make you puff.”
“Behave, or I’ll push you down just to see you run up without getting red in the face.”
“Lizzie, I’m scared to death about giving a piano concert for the people at the boardinghouse. It isn’t the playing; I love that. It’s just the risk of getting caught.”
“Of your aunt and father finding out? No chance. We’ve been sneaking around for weeks and haven’t been caught.”
Amy winced. “I wish you hadn’t said it that way. You don’t ever seem to worry about your parents finding out. How do you—”
“I explained everything to Mrs. Arnold,” Lizzie interrupted. “The audience won’t even know your name. Mrs. Arnold will call you Annabell. She predicts you’ll be such a success that her place will be more popular than ever!”
“It’s getting pretty close to sundown. Both Father and Aunt Maude were so busy they didn’t give me a second glance when I left. I wore my best dress, but it’s terrible.”
“I knew you would say that. I brought this scarf for you to drape around your shoulders.” Lizzie pulled the length of silk out of her pocket and shook out the wrinkles.
“Oh, Lizzie, it’s beautiful!” Amy jumped to her feet and draped the embroidered scarf around her shoulders. “The flowers and butterflies are enough to make anyone happy.”
“Now let me brush your hair into curls, then we’ll go.”
They reached the boardinghouse parlor just as Mrs. Arnold came into the room with a lighted candle. Amy watched her hold the taper to the candelabrum on the stand beside the piano. As each candle flared, more of the shadowy room was revealed.
By the time Amy sat down and touched the piano keys, she had forgotten the line of faces beyond the light.
As the last rollicking chord died away, Amy stood to bow the way Lizzie had taught her. She couldn’t help thinking, One thing is certain. They’re clapping harder now than they did at the beginning. She tucked that satisfaction away inside and followed Lizzie out the back door. Amy lifted her flushed cheeks to the breeze coming down the gulch. Folding the silk scarf regretfully, she touched the embroidery again. It’s over, all over, and I didn’t do so bad. If only I dared tell Father.
She sighed and began to braid her hair. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains and the streets of Central City were layered with deepening shadows. Before Amy dared start down the street, she had to check each shadow. The fearful memory of encountering Aunt Maude still lingered.
Reluctant to go home, Amy turned to Lizzie, “It’s amazing,” she murmured, straining to see into the shadows, “Every day I see more miners coming into town with their jacks and picks. Even womenfolk are arriving. Not the ones that come by stage.” She slanted a glance at Lizzie.
By the light coming from the window, she could see Lizzie’s eyes flash. She said, “And what a bunch of women! Old hags, but they can cozy up to the bar just like the men.”
“Lizzie,” Amy gasped, “that’s terrible! Why, Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Ellis have both been to church services.”
“Looking like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, huh? I’ll tell you another thing. I heard from a good source that Wilsons left Auraria because he caught her with a fellow.”
“Lizzie, I can’t listen to such gossip,” Amy said indignantly. Lizzie threw back her head and laughed. “Besides,” Amy continued, “how would you know what goes on in the saloons?”
“Prude!” Lizzie teased. “What will you do if it leaks out that you’ve been sneaking into the boardinghouse all summer? Think they’d believe it’s just to learn the piano?”
Amy stopped on the steps and turned. “Lizzie, you give me the shivers just talking about it. The only reason I’ve come is because wanting to learn is stronger than my common sense. My father would never be able to take the shock!”
Lizzie was sober now. “I know, and you can be certain I’ll never be the one to tell.”
“I’ll just always be grateful that you were willing to risk yourself to teach me how to play the piano.”
Lizzie hugged Amy quickly. “It’s worth it. Never have I seen a person learn as quickly as you. Only promise me one thing.”
“What?” Amy asked cautiously.
“Someday really study the piano. No matter what you must do to get the opportunity, find a good teacher and really learn.”
“I will, I will,” Amy murmured, pressing Lizzie’s hands in hers.
They moved toward the steps. For a moment light from the lamps beyond the window circled them. Amy glanced at Lizzie and continued, “I suppose I won’t have any excuse to come here again. I’m going to miss this. You, too, not just the piano. But I understand. Mrs. Arnold has been good to let me in here during the dinner hour. I can’t expect her kindness to last forever.”
Lizzie’s smile flashed, “I’m glad you finally agreed to play the piano for the men. Missy, I wouldn’t have given you a passing grade without a recital.” She shook her finger in mock sternness and Amy giggled.
“It was fun! Never would I dare do it again though.”
Lizzie giggled. “I think Mrs. Arnold got a big kick out of it, the preacher’s daughter playing her piano and nobody knew who it was.”
Amy went down two steps and then turned. “I do wish you and your family would come to services. But I understand. If your folks aren’t church people, I guess there’s not much you can do about it. But I would like to meet them. We’ve been friends for weeks now, and—”
“We’ve been all through that, remember? They just don’t hold much with religious types. Besides, you’ve never introduced me to your father and aunt.”
“I guess I haven’t, have I? But at least you’ve seen—”
The wooden steps creaked. Amy and Lizzie turned. By the narrow shaft of light coming from the boardinghouse they watched the man come down toward them.
He was dressed in white, and moved with a grace unknown to those parts. He stopped in front of them and raised his hat. “Ma’am—” His voice backed up Amy’s first impression: he was a stranger to Central City, and he wasn’t a miner. “May I compliment you on playing the piano? I’ve attended many concerts, but never have I enjoyed one so immensely.”
Amy was still hugging the compliment to herself as she walked homeward. Lucas Tristram. She rolled the strange name around on her tongue; it sounded important. He was a lawyer, up from Denver City. He said he was thinking of settling in Central City.
Before he left, he pressed her hands, saying he hoped to see her again. Unlike the miners with their teasing, offhand compliments, his eyes, even in the shadows, were sincere.
Amy slipped into the cabin and paused. It took a moment to adjust to this other world. She stood just beyond the circle of light cast by the candle over her father’s book and Aunt Maude’s sewing. Her mind was still filled with images of shiny black and white keys and gleaming mahogany; the lilting chords of the waltz still echoed through her.
Taking a deep breath she stepped into the light. “That you, Amy?” Neither one lifted a head.
“Yes, Father.”
“Nearly dark, isn’t it?”
“Eli, it’s been dark for over an hour!” Maude snapped. “Amy, with all the wild men in this town, I’d think you’d try to ease our minds by being home before dark.”
“Aunt Clara is better than a bodyguard. Besides nobody would touch the parson’s young’un.”
Eli pushed aside his book. “The quarterly meeting begins next week.”
“In Mountain City,” Amy added quickly. “Are we going to camp out with the rest of them?”
“No, it looks like every spare section of ground will be needed for the tents. Most of the meeting will take place out in the open. I’m advised that some of the men will be arriving early to erect pine shelters.
“This is quite an honor for the town to have the Methodist Episcopal Church quarterly meeting up here. The presiding elder said he’s expecting some delegates from Europe; imagine that!” He beamed and then added, “I just wanted to remind you that we’ll be riding home after the meeting each night.”
Maude sighed, “That’s a shame. It will be late and we’ll be tired. I still remember how much fun it was to stay in the tents with all the other girls. I did it often enough when I was a youngster. My, such meetings we had!”
“No girls here; there’ll be just the men,” Amy murmured. “Does that mean we’ll be involved with the cooking?”
“You’re behind times,” Eli answered. “Several new men have arrived on the field and they’ve brought their families with them.”
“What about Aunt Clara?”
Maude lifted her chin. “Of course we’ll take her. If we don’t give her a ride, she’s bound to hike it every day.”
Father chuckled, “Might be better for the meetings. Aunt Clara will buttonhole everyone she meets and haul them to the meeting with her.”
Maude was shaking her head. “Don’t understand how a darky can succeed where we’ve failed. But the fact is, since she’s been here more people are coming to church services.”
“She just backs them into a corner and paints them with a guilty conscience,” Amy said. “I’ve watched her do it.”
That next week, when they started down the road to Mountain City for the first meeting, Amy noticed the beginning of color in the trees. The brilliant aspens sent Amy’s thoughts spinning back a year, when Daniel Gerrett had first come to worship services. In their grove the aspens had been a brilliant gold.
She sighed and wondered about him. Was he happy? Did he think about her? Most likely his memories were ones she wouldn’t care to know. She felt her face grow warm as she tried to shove that last day out of her mind.
But Daniel’s dark eyes intruded again. She chewed her lip and wished it were possible to roll up the past year and start over.
Amy saw Aunt Clara coming. She smiled at her beaming face, but her thoughts remained with Daniel. He wouldn’t have left if he’d cared—even a little. Her heart sank. Most likely he left because he didn’t want to see me again.
Aunt Clara nodded her approval as she climbed into the wagon, saying, “My, the Lord’s decorated the cathedral. It’s a sign we’ll be havin’ a good time!” Amy looked from the dark shining face to the red sumac and golden aspens. For a moment she wished her heart could be as light as Aunt Clara’s was.
It was still early morning when the Randolph wagon reached Mountain City. Both sides of the ravine, nearly to the top, were covered with white tents. Breakfast fires filled the gulch with smoke.
There was a new sound in Mountain City—the excited chatter of children. Father grinned and pointed. Amy noticed them coming from all directions, and as she watched them, rosy-faced women poked their heads out tent openings.
A youth stepped into the clearing by the pine-bough booth and lifted a tin horn.
“We arrived just in time,” Eli murmured as he hopped down and began to unharness the horses. “I need to see a fellow; you ladies go find a place to sit. Looks like they’ve done a good job with the log benches.”
Amy slowly followed Aunt Maude as she headed for the front row. Desperately wishing herself any place but here, Amy arranged the smile on her face. Already her hands were cold and her heart squeezing tight as she thought, Why does the memory keep coming up like this? Doesn’t camp meeting bring back bad memories for them, too? How could Father and Aunt Maude pretend to be happy?
While the ripple of excited voices rose around her, Amy saw only the image of that crude length of log they called the mourner’s bench. She stared at the peeling bark, vaguely remembering another one from her early childhood.
She squeezed her hands to stop the trembling while the questions pounded her. Sometimes, when it was particularly bad, she felt an overwhelming desire to shake her fist at heaven and scream out the question, Why? Why did you take my mother away?
Even now, with the question in her mind, a single sharp, painful image surfaced as clear now as the night her mother died. She only remembered one scene: the figure huddled by the wooden bench, then sprawled and limp. Mother.
Aunt Maude found a seat and adjusted the pillow she carried. She pointed to a group of dark-garbed men standing close to Father. “Amy, see? The one with the beard is the bishop from Nebraska.” Her aunt was nodding, smiling.
But Amy saw only the contrast between the dignified black and the humble garb of the preachers from the mountains.
A young man jumped up beside the bishop and picked up a hymnal. “It isn’t like back home where they had little Amy Randolph sing out the verses for the people to follow.” Aunt Maude’s whisper was too loud, and Amy cringed.
The young man began with the old familiar hymns, and Aunt Maude hissed, “He can’t even carry a tune! I’ve a mind to suggest—”
“Aunt Maude!” Amy admonished.
The preaching began. The rustling, restless people became quiet.
The words were a river, alternately flowing and crashing. In the background, in the workaday world of mining, she heard the cry of teamsters and the steady, monotonous thump of the stamp mill.
The week of meetings blurred together until the last night. At the very end, while Father and Aunt Maude began to move toward the wagon, Amy saw one last seeker slip out of the shadows and move into the light of the fires.
When he knelt Amy recognized his lanky frame. “Daniel!” she whispered. On tiptoe with the need to run to him, she hesitated. But Aunt Maude’s frown and Father’s tired face made her turn away.
All the way home, riding in the moonlit night, Amy thought about Daniel. It hurt many different ways to consider him. That day of the blast, his bewildered face and pain-filled eyes had become a part of her.
Thinking now of the figure kneeling at the peeled log bench, bitterness rolled through her. He could have found me, he knew we would be there. Not once did he bring himself around. Amy, what more do you need to know?