Amy decided working in the post office was better than watching life through the bedroom window. There was little to do beyond sweeping the floor and reading the newspapers coming in from Denver City.
The newspapers played a double role in Buckskin Joe. Before long, Amy became the source of information in Buckskin Joe for those who didn’t read the Rocky Mountain News.
One day, with her head deep in the newspaper, Amy muttered, “I was getting to the place where I thought I knew everything happening around the territory. Here it is September; we’ve been a territory since last February, and I didn’t know they had decided the official name was Colorado. I’d thought we were stuck with Jefferson for a name.”
Feet shuffled and she raised her head. A miner waited for his mail. “Name’s Murphy,” he said gruffly, “and I don’t care about the shenanigans Congress has put us through. I just want to know if there’s a letter for me.” He took his letter and headed for the door, saying, “The sooner I clear out of this place the better I’ll like it.” But Amy wasn’t listening to him; she stared instead at the girl walking through the door.
Lizzie’s smile was apprehensive as Amy came from behind the barricade to give her a quick hug. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! I’ve been wanting to visit, but I didn’t know where to come looking for you. I thought Mrs. Tabor knew everyone in town, but she didn’t know your whereabouts.”
Lizzie’s smile became bitter. Amy asked, “What’s happened with you? You’re unhappy, that’s clear. And why did you fly out of here the last time you were here?”
“Look, Amy, I don’t need to hear this line about friendship. Just drop the talk. Let me get this letter sent and I’ll be on my way.”
“Lizzie, I don’t understand. We were best of friends last spring. Why—”
The expression in her eyes was changing. For a moment Amy expected Lizzie to laugh. Abruptly she turned away. “You haven’t talked to Clara Brown? I supposed you’d found me out, that’s all.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Your precious Aunt Clara Brown pinned me to the wall. Saw me once when I wished she hadn’t. From the talking she gave me, I supposed you knew it all.”
“Lizzie, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You want me to spell it out? Amy, use your head. Why do you think I had an in with Mrs. Arnold at the boardinghouse?”
Finally Amy said, “Are you trying to tell me you were one of her girls? Well, Lizzie, that does surprise me. But I can forget the past.”
“Past? What do you think I’m doing now—scrubbing floors?”
In the silence the clock on the wall gonged out the hour. Amy watched the bronze pendulum sweeping back and forth behind the glass. All nice and neatly ordered. But Aunt Maude isn’t here to put me in a box like that. Her eyes slanted toward Lizzie. Keeping her voice level she said, “Lizzie, if you don’t criticize how I earn my living, then I won’t criticize you. Seems to me we both need a friend mighty badly.”
Lizzie blinked her eyes just as the door opened. She looked up. The woman who had walked into their conversation was glaring at Lizzie. “Yer one of those fancy gals. Didn’t know the likes of you addressed decent people.” Amy dropped her paper and jumped to her feet.
The door banged behind Lizzie. Going to the window Amy watched Lizzie swishing down the road. Turning to the woman waiting for her mail, she said, “You hurt her feelings.”
“Jest a dance-hall gal. Seems they’re uppity enough without encouraging them.” She reached for the letter Amy held out to her. Fingering the letter, the woman said, “You best be careful who you line up with around here. A young lady like you could get a bad reputation.”
Amy chewed her finger and watched the customer leave the building. Staring at the vacant spot where Lizzie had stood, she picked up the paper and folded it with a sigh. “Poor President Lincoln. He’s in for a rough time.”
The miner who had just entered said, “Why’s Lincoln in for a rough time?”
She tapped the newspaper. “Can’t read it without getting the feeling that what happened at Fort Sumter in April is just the beginning of big problems.” She looked at the miner. We’re in war now. Our own country is fighting among themselves. A family fight. That’s bad.” The man was gnawing at a big plug of tobacco. Hastily she said, “Don’t spit on the floor; I just got it swept.” She held out her hand for his letter and watched him go out the door.
The afternoon was slipping toward dusk, and people hurried on past the post office, heading for home.
Amy sat down on her stool and reached for the Rocky Mountain News. As she thumbed to the back of the paper, a name caught her attention. She turned to the beginning of the article. It was about a Methodist Episcopal elder who had left his church at California Gulch and had accepted a commission to head the First Colorado Regiment. The article said his church had been taken over by a supply pastor, a newcomer.
Slowly Amy said, “So presiding elder John Chivington is going to be an army officer defending our territory against the Texans.” She read more. “It appears that a Daniel Gerrett has been appointed to fill his pulpit as the new pastor.”
As time came to lock the post office, Amy slowly got to her feet. Dusk shadowed the streets making them look as dismal as she felt. Locking the door, Amy started down the street to her barren attic room. The article had opened up the hidden place in her mind, and now her thoughts churned.
She whispered to the autumn sky, “I’m feeling like I’ve been yanked out of my covering. Left here in the cold.” Amy shivered and tried to find a nice warm anger to shove down between Daniel and her. It seemed the only way to handle the loneliness that unexpectedly invaded her isolation.
****
Daniel studied the line of books on the shelf built into the supporting cedar posts of his new home. “Mighty fine. Better library than I ever expected to have.” As he spoke, he realized the one-way conversations were becoming commonplace.
But he continued. “But these books that John Chivington left are going to be no more important to me than they were to him.”
He rubbed his unruly thatch of dark hair and sighed. Taking a quick pace around the one small room of his cabin he surveyed it all. The distance from the bunks built into the far wall to the fireplace was only three hard strides. Between the sheet metal cookstove to the table set in the middle of the room was another stride.
He turned around. The end wall by the door was covered with more shelves and pegs for clothing. Benches lined each side of the table, and a few cooking utensils and dishes were on shelves. But that was the extent of his newly inherited possessions. It was a church as poor as the new diggings they called California Gulch.
“Doesn’t look like there’s ever been a woman’s touch here, but I can’t blame his wife for not wanting to live here,” he muttered, trying to avoid thinking about Amy. His two windows were bare and black against the night. Their blank panes stared like curious eyes, and Daniel vaguely remembered that women did something about curtains.
He turned toward the stove just as a hearty thump resounded from the door. A voice shouted, “Open up, Parson, I know you’re there. I saw you through the window.”
With a grin Daniel yanked at the door, saying, “I recognize your sweet, gentle voice, Father Dyer. Come in!”
The stocky man marched in. Dumping his gear on the floor, he said, “Heard you’d been given the mission at California. Decided I’d drop past and see how you’re doing.”
He clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “Am glad to see you again! Since quarterly meeting I’ve been wondering about you. How are you getting along? Surprised me to hear you’ve been given an assignment so soon. That speaks well.”
Daniel winced. “I think it’s by default, Father Dyer. Many of the fellows have gone to soldiering with Chivington. It makes the preaching ranks mighty thin.”
Dyer sat down on a bench. “Mind if I drop here tonight? I’m pretty tired. Hiked over from Fairplay.”
“I’d be more than disappointed if you didn’t,” Daniel answered soberly. “I haven’t had a soul to talk to since leaving Fort Lupton. Hiked? Can’t the circuit support a horse?”
“Naw, I’d rather eat. Besides there’s snow stacking up on Mosquito Pass early this year. I’ve made myself some snowshoes.” He paused to chuckle, “You’d have had a good laugh watching me learn to use them. But I’ll trust the snowshoes before a horse. That’s some trail in the snow.”
“So you intend to keep up the circuit during the winter months?”
“My conscience won’t allow otherwise. There’s only a handful of people across the camps, but they’ll see me as often as possible.” He paused and added, “You say you’re lonely? Don’t you even have a congregation yet?”
Daniel grinned. “Not much of one.”
“Daniel boy, I’m tempted to hang around and make sure you get some fire into you. These miners need to be stirred up. I’m finding out that most of them have a background of good, God-fearing families. But there’s an indifference to the Lord like I’ve never seen back home. It’s the latest in golden-calf worship, and a handful of gold is the start. We need to encourage these men to be getting into church. The real fire will come later.”
Daniel pulled forward a skillet and began cutting bacon into it as Dyer continued to talk. “A month or so ago I was over in Washington Gulch. ’Twas the Sabbath when I walked into a settlement called Minersville. You’d never have known it was any day except a workday. At sunup men were cutting wood and building cabins. They had a tent set up for a grocery store and men were going at it, cutting beef and selling it. I stretched my lungs.”
He paused to chuckle, saying, “Now, Daniel, I don’t want you to think I always do this, but it seemed they needed my attention. So I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, ‘We’re having services! There’s to be preaching at the grocery tent.’ Well, they came and we had a good service. I tell you, I was as surprised as they were.
“Forty men came, leading their jacks and ponies. Some customers were continuing to do business at the meat counter, even while we were singing, so I called for prayer.”
Daniel stirred the beans and shifted the skillet to the back of the stove. “Did you preach?”
“Yes, and it went along fine until a mule stuck his head through the tent and made off with a loaf of bread. That was a little distracting.”
While Daniel served up the bacon and beans, Dyer said, “Later that night we had revival meeting around a campfire. There’s about a hundred men up there, but only one woman. The territory is a lonely place at best, and for womenfolk it’s worse.” Daniel saw his quizzical look but said nothing.
Dyer lingered on for another day, and Daniel apologized, “I know I’ve about twisted your ear off and nearly wrung you dry of words. But I need all the help you can give. It’s been good having you, come back again, Father Dyer.”
“Seems to me, listening to you talk, you needn’t worry. Just stay on your knees and don’t be afraid of laying it on the line. The Bible’s our only sure textbook and the Lord is our only Teacher.” He clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “We all have to learn the hard way. Remember, you preach soft and you’ll see men lose their souls. You preach hard and all you’ll lose is the kind of friends you can get along without anyway.”
Later while Dyer was tightening his pack, getting ready to leave he said, “Fella, I’ve done most of the talking. But I want to tell you, if you need a friendly ear, I’m willing to do some listening.”
He was adjusting the straps on his pack. Daniel studied his face, sensing more behind the words. His glib reply stuck in his throat. When Dyer lifted his head, Daniel said, “Father Dyer, what do you mean?”
“Over in Buckskin Joe there’s a pretty little blonde woman who says her name is Mrs. Gerrett. I thought I saw her at quarterly meeting.”
Daniel could think of only one thing and it filled his heart with a rush of gladness: Amy was using his name!
Dyer waited. Looking into his troubled eyes, Daniel said, “Think you can stay another night? I’d like to tell you about it.”
They settled around the table. Daniel started at the beginning, telling Dyer about Central City and the events that had led up to the night at quarterly meeting when Aunt Maude had confronted Amy and himself.
After he finished the story, Daniel stared at his folded hands and added, “When I went to see Amy’s father, he seemed to think she had headed for home—back to Kansas. Eli said he gave Amy a gold piece for her birthday. He thought it might be enough for her to travel home. Her Aunt Maude is there now so she’d have a place to go.”
Daniel shrugged and looked at the table. “Didn’t seem to be anything I could do about the whole situation.” He looked up. “I prayed, asked for guidance—for the next step.”
Father Dyer waited. Daniel wiped his hands over his face. “I have no idea why she would go to Buckskin Joe. I can hardly believe she’s still in the territory and hasn’t contacted her father.”
He dropped his hands and looked at Dyer, hoping the questions didn’t show in his eyes. John Dyer shook his head, “Daniel, I can’t offer you much, but I do know she’s working in the post office and living with the Tabors.
“From talking to her I get the feeling she’s a lonely, confused girl with a big problem. Tried to get her to come to services.” He reluctantly added, “Somehow I have the feeling your little lady is afraid of meetings. Is that possible?”
Daniel nodded. “It seems, from the little talking we’ve done about the past, that the fear goes back to her mother’s death. Father Dyer!” he cried out against his will, “she could have written a letter if she wanted to have anything to do with me.”
“Seems that way,” John Dyer said soberly.
“I need help. What do you think I should do? I don’t want her to feel I’m pressuring her to come back. I don’t want an unwilling wife.”
“Seems she needs to have a visit with you. Daniel, your marriage puts you in a new situation. You realize as her husband, you hold a special responsibility for Amy’s salvation. Right off, I’d say that’s so until she indicates she doesn’t want to continue with the marriage.”
“Isn’t that what she’s saying by leaving?”
“That’s for you to decide, Daniel.”