It was nearly ten o’clock—church time. That made Amy uneasy. She glanced at the sun. It was shining brightly; everyone could see she wasn’t going to church. She hurried along, taking hasty gulps of the morning air; she turned off the road to cross the meadow.
Having been there before made it easier now. After another quick glance at the sun, Amy marched across the frozen expanse of brown grass, trying to not care about what people were thinking.
She walked up the steps and into the boardinghouse. This Sunday morning, her footsteps were the only ones creaking across the rough-timbered floor. She paused and closed the door again, hard this time. A tousled head appeared over the banister, sleepy eyes widened. “Is the place on fire?”
“No,” Amy said slowly, “Where is everyone? It’s nearly noon.”
The rest of the girl appeared. She came down the stairs hugging her skimpy gown about her. Shivering she said, “Ugh, it’s cold. What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Lizzie.”
“In the middle of the night? Come back this afternoon! None of us get up this early.” The scorn in her voice ended the conversation and she headed upstairs.
The door opposite the parlor opened. Amy exclaimed, “Silverheels!” She studied the face above the blue velvet robe. The question in the blue eyes changed to anger. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Amy whispered. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ve today off and I just thought—”
“You’d come visiting.” The woman sighed and Amy was surprised to see lines creasing the smooth face into a pattern that was both sad and lonely.
The blue eyes softened. Amy couldn’t turn away. The woman’s face, free now of the bright dabs of color and the strained smile, was beginning to seem warm and attractive.
Amy blurted out, “You have such beautiful skin; it’s a shame to—”
“Cover it with rouge? Spoken like a true daughter of a clergyman.”
Astonishment made Amy’s jaw drop. “How did you know about Father? Oh, I know—Lizzie must have told you all about Central City.”
Amy rushed on. “That’s why I’ve come. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Lizzie. And because of what she said, I dared not wait another day.”
“And what did she say?”
“Well—she thought I was uppity. Too good for her.”
The woman’s mocking smile burst through. “You’re sure it isn’t because of the piano, of feeling obligated? Lizzie hasn’t been well.”
“Oh dear, I was afraid of that. I thought she looked peaked the last time I saw her.”
“Come back to the kitchen; I’ll start coffee and see if Lizzie can come down.” Amy followed Silverheels down the hall, looking curiously about as she went through the dining room and into the kitchen.
The big cookstove still cradled warm embers. Silverheels poked around inside, and then crushed in paper and kindling. When the flames settled, she pulled the coffeepot forward and ladled in the fragrant coffee. “I’ll get her,” she murmured, heading for the door.
Amy paced about the room, examining everything. Abundance—more of everything than I’ve ever seen, she thought. Her eyes took in the stacks of dishes, the big oven, the mammoth table and the heaps of potatoes, onions, and squash piled beside the back door. A pantry door stood open. She could see mounds of pastry and covered tins stacked high.
The floorboards creaked behind Amy. She turned around as Silverheels came into the room. “No wonder you like living here—no danger of going hungry.”
A line appeared between Silverheels’ eyebrows, “You’ve gone hungry?”
“Oh, not really. But a parson sure doesn’t live like this.”
Silverheels hesitated, then glanced at Amy. “I’ll get you some coffee. I’ve called one of the girls to go after Lizzie.”
They settled down at the table with their mugs. While Silverheels sipped coffee, Amy studied the mug. “This is pretty!”
Giving her a pleased smile, the woman leaned forward, “You appreciate fine things, too bad—” There was the quick slap of heels coming down the hall. “Oh, Silver,” wailed the girl as she came into the room. “Lizzie is throwing up again. She says she can’t come yet.”
The girl stopped. “Oh, begging your pardon.” Her voice was prim but her eyes were wickedly gleeful. “Now the other half’ll know how we live.” She bobbed a mock curtsey and backed toward the door, clutching the shawl over her thin gown.
Amy got to her feet, “Oh, dear. I didn’t realize she’s that sick. Is it something catching?”
Silverheels sipped her coffee and smiled. “I don’t think so. Mrs. Gerrett, you should know all about these little problems. It is Mrs., isn’t it?” There was a glint in her eyes, and with a sinking heart Amy understood.
That girl. What did she mean ‘other half’? Was she talking about life here in the boardinghouse? Strange, how easy it was to ignore the ugly part. The girl had drawn the line with her mocking voice. For another moment, Amy played with the handle on her mug. Father had hinted about these kind of things. Dance-hall girls.
“You mean she’s pregnant, don’t you?” Amy sighed. “Poor Lizzie. I guess I was thinking she had better—sense.”
Silverheels’ face was growing hard, cold. Impatiently she got to her feet. “It’s a risk the girls have to take!” she snapped. “Also, you notice they aren’t starving. I’ll go take care of Lizzie.”
“Then I’d better leave.”
The woman paused and turned. Her face was completely expressionless. “Aren’t you fearful of what she’ll think?”
“Tell her I’ll be back.”
“Maybe she should just come see you—at the post office.”
Amy walked back to Tabors’ boardinghouse, feeling guilty. Friend! I’m nearly glad I couldn’t see her. What do you say to a person like that?
Amy was nearly home before she could examine her other emotion. Silverheels’ eyes had been scornful. “She’s thinking I’m a silly little baby because I was shocked.” Her steps dragged. Amy tried to understand her reaction. Why should I care how the madame feels?
Then with astonishment Amy said, “Maybe I’ve just been pretending I don’t know what’s going on in these places. It’s easier, because Lizzie has been so nice to me. But Aunt Maude says nice girls don’t let boys touch them.” She moved her shoulders impatiently even as she imagined the thin, disapproving droop to Aunt Maude’s lips. “Aunt Maude would say Lizzie has all the marks of hell on her. So now I know, I’m obligated to stay away from Lizzie.” Rebellion boiled up—against Aunt Maude, against the mockery in Silverheels’ eyes.
Augusta, leading her little boy by the hand, met her at the door. “We’ve been to services. Mighty barren it was. Folks don’t seem to have much enthusiasm for worship on the Sabbath.” She sighed heavily and then brightened as she said, “Father Dyer is going to be holding revival services starting the first part of November. I happen to know he’s looking about for a person to play his little portable organ. If you’re interested, I’ll tell him.”
Amy couldn’t control the shudder. She rubbed her arms and said, “My, I hope I haven’t taken a chill.”
Later that week, while Amy was sitting behind the wire mesh cage enclosing her desk, the first of the compelling hands reached out to her.
A woman marched into the post office carrying a sheet of paper advertising the revival meetings. The woman’s appearance was familiar: a calico was hidden under a dark shawl, steel-gray hair twisted so tight her eyebrows were stretched into an expression of surprise.
She pulled a hammer and a nail out of her bag. Amy’s mouth twitched with amusement as she watched her attempts to hold the paper, lift the hammer and pound the nail. The woman’s face was red from effort when the door opened.
The girl in yellow taffeta grinned under her fur-trimmed bonnet. Flashing a mischievous smile at Amy, she stepped forward. “Here, I’ll help you.” She held up the poster while the woman pounded the nails. “So we’re going to have a revival meeting, starting November 6, 1861?”
The woman backed up and looked at the fur-trimmed bonnet and the yellow frock. “Thank you for the help. Yes, we’ll be having meetings.” She paused and slowly added, “You’re welcome. Bring your friends.”
With a saucy smile, while the bonnet bobbed, the girl said, “It would cut competition, wouldn’t it?”
During the week, Amy watched as the wall in the post office was decorated with more posters. The boardinghouse across the way was having a grand ball on the night of November ninth. And the Grand Hotel was holding a ball in their ballroom on the twelfth.
Another poster announced the opening of the new dancing school for the miners to come and perfect their ballroom skills. The battle lines were drawn.
The next week Amy was pulled into the middle of it all. She had heard Father Dyer was in town, no doubt to prepare for the revival. He was going to be surprised. Amy had been cataloging the buildings in town. Between the balls and the dancing classes, there wasn’t one building spacious enough for a revival meeting.
She also knew that sooner or later Father Dyer would be in the post office, and she was prepared. Before that day came, Mr. Mayer made a special visit to the post office to inform Amy that she was to play with the band being brought up from Denver City.
“A band from Denver City?” Amy exclaimed. “What’s wrong with the band from Buckskin Joe?”
His expression was scornful. “That’s small time. I hear these fellows from Denver are good. We want the best for the ball.”
He handed her the sheaf of music. “There will be a practice session.” He chuckled, “Those gals think they can outdo us. We’ll show them. After all, we have a better pianist.”
She didn’t have time to be nervous before Father Dyer’s visit. When he came to the cage, she saw his measuring eye, but his first words totally disarmed her.
“I need you to play the organ. Thank God there’s a clergyman’s daughter here who knows all the hymns. It’s a blessing that you play by ear.”
His words had slipped past her, catching her off guard. As he waited she remembered the speech she had prepared for him. “Where are you going to have services? Haven’t you heard? The only place big enough is being used by the dancing school that has just started up.”
He turned to go. “Don’t worry about that. Your landlady, Mrs. Tabor, has volunteered her parlor. If the crowd is too big, we’ll talk H.A.W. into letting us meet in the grocery store. Won’t be the first time I’ve preached with hams swinging around my head.”
Feeling trapped, Amy could only stare at him. “I’ll count on you, Mrs. Gerrett.”