Amy stood in front of her mirror, trying to twist her curly locks into the latest style. Augusta tapped on the open door. Amy turned. “Augusta, will you please help me? I’m trying to make one of those fancy double knots.”
“Like that hussy Silverheels was wearing when she came into the store yesterday?” Augusta snorted, but she came to peer at Amy. “Your hair’s too curly. No, that can’t be the reason. Silverheels has hair just as curly as yours. But hers is faded-looking. I suppose in another year or so she’ll be smearing on the henna.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I—oh! Amy, I came to tell you there’s a gentleman waiting to see you in the parlor.”
“Gentleman?” Amy laughed. “Are you talking about the old man with the whiskers who’s been following me around? He’s a miner.”
“No, this is a young man. Looks more like a preacher than a miner. So, twist your hair up quick, and I’ll tell him you’ll be right down.”
Amy turned back to the mirror and shook her head. “If I dared, I’d cut all this off; wouldn’t that shock Aunt Maude?” She rolled it into a soft knot and thrust in the pins before she started for the stairs.
Halfway down she stopped. What’ll I do if one of those men from the hotel has come calling? She cringed, thinking of the implications. Married, but without a husband. It’s no wonder I have difficulty convincing people—men. I could get a reputation as bad as Silverheels’. Shaking her head, Amy ran down the last steps.
At first glance the parlor seemed empty; then she turned slowly, and saw him closing the door behind her. Amy’s hand moved to the tiny white collar of her frock and then to the wad of hair.
He gestured toward the rocking chair and she said, “I—my pins are falling out.” But she sat and he pulled a chair close.
His brown eyes seemed distant, but they took in everything, from the new dark calico frock to the slipping hair. For a moment she was grateful that she wasn’t wearing Augusta’s gray silk.
“Amy—” he began.
She interrupted, “Daniel, how did you find me?”
“Does that matter?” His eyes continued to probe as he said, “I’ve business here in town and it didn’t seem fair to let you bump into me on the street.” While she tried to find something to say, he added, “You’ve changed. Grown up. Before, I guess I didn’t spend much time looking for changes.” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.
“Daniel—” She stopped. The necessary words would do nothing except hurt those brown eyes. She could see he was waiting out the silence and she must say something. “All that happened was so foolish. Please, just let’s forget about it, about—each other.” Now the words rushed out. “I just can’t be a preacher’s wife.”
The frown deepened. “I’m not here to force you to come back. I’ll not put pressure on you of any kind. I want to know that you’re happy, and that you’re not needing anything.” He stretched out his hand and then pulled it back.
That gesture hurt, and Amy spoke over the tightness in her throat. “I am happy.” She hesitated; now she couldn’t see his eyes in the dim room. Abruptly he got to his feet and wandered around the room with his hands in his pockets.
Searching for something to say, she asked, “Why did you come?” Anything, Daniel—just say something. I feel so guilty—I suppose I should say I’m sorry.
“John Dyer has asked me to help with revival services.” He hesitated a moment and then moved toward the door. “I hear he’s asked you to play the organ.” She nodded and he said, “I’d like that.” His voice sounded muffled as he spoke in a rush. “I hope we’ll get some time together while I’m here. We mustn’t have bad feelings over this.” His eyes were imploring.
“Of course.” She kept her voice level. But at the door she touched his arm. “Are you well? You seem—thin.”
She could see the shadows in his eyes. He started to speak and then slowly nodded and smiled. Silently he pulled on his hat and hunched into his old coat. Just before he walked out the door, he touched her cheek lightly.
Amy walked up the stairs, trying to keep her footsteps slow and even. She was also trying to swallow the lump in her throat.
When she closed the door of her room, she leaned against it and looked at the reflection the mirror threw back. Her hair was slipping. With trembling fingers she fumbled with the pins.
“Getting married is sure one way to ruin a good friendship,” she murmured. She turned away from the mirrored sight of the tears on her face. “Why does it hurt so much? I was going to be angry—I didn’t expect to feel so sorry,” she mourned, holding her hand against the cheek he touched.
At noon the next day, Amy was still thinking about Daniel as she walked to the post office. The sun beat down on her back, and she moved her shoulders, realizing that the impersonal warmth heightened her loneliness.
Down by the river’s edge the stamp mill was thumping out its monotonous message. She turned to look at the hulking object. Beyond, barely visible from where she stood, stretched the jagged, raw furrows that were the Phillips Lode.
Some were expressing fears about the Lode. The surface gold was gone, they were saying. Now, as if the earth were reluctant with her bounty, the content of the ore had changed.
Just yesterday a discouraged-looking miner had come in with a letter to send. He leaned on the counter and explained the rumbles of discontent. The sulfides in the ore, couldn’t be broken down by the stamp mill, so they would have the expense of shipping ore to the smelter.
A miner coming down the street seemed to have lost his jaunty walk. She noticed the man’s dirty, tired face, the tattered clothing, the discouraged stride.
A trio of girls marched down the street. Arms linked, they were singing softly under their breaths. But their rouged cheeks didn’t disguise the dark shadows under their eyes. Their shrill laughter startled the jack in front of Tabors’ store and drew a half-smile from the miner.
Surprisingly, Amy found herself feeling sorry for the girls. She watched them continue down the street.
As she fumbled with the heavy post office key, Amy saw the man coming down the street. It was easy to guess the stocky figure dressed in brown was Father Dyer. She watched the girls stop on the edge of the road and cluster around him.
Amy leaned against the doorjamb, feeling the sunshine on her face. Glancing down the street, she watched the group move closer together. Father Dyer was talking earnestly. Then the laughter came, and like butterflies in the wind, the girls spun away from him.
Amy had the door open now. She scooted inside, flipping her shawl to the hook as she dashed behind the counter. Father Dyer walked into the post office. His first words revealed he had seen her. “Like pasteboard pretties,” he said, jerking his head in the direction the girls had taken. “Paint and froth. Gets your attention like a poster, but that’s all.”
“Some don’t think so.” Amy couldn’t resist the urge to push the words at him. “I was in the store the other day and H.A.W. Tabor was holding court around the stove. He was saying that while the girls had been criticized, they’ve also done some good. He mentioned the miners being more prone to shave and clean up when the girls are in town.”
He shoved her words aside impatiently. “You going to play the organ for us?”
She pointed to the posters on the wall. “One night I’ll have to practice with the band and the next night is the ball. Other than that, I’ll come play.”
He watched her with eyes that didn’t tell her a thing. But when he finally began talking, he didn’t leave room for questions. “Mrs. Gerrett, I know your father. He’s a God-fearing man of the cloth and I know for a certainty that he’s raised you to know right from wrong. If you can’t see anything wrong with playing for ballroom dancing, well, I’ll be praying for you.
“You know the Bible teaching; you know we must all stand before the judgment throne of God. With that choice on your conscience, will you be able to look Him in the eyes and say your life is measuring up to the fullness of His will for you?”
After he left the post office, Amy thought of a question. Did he know about that marriage ceremony at last quarterly meeting?
But after she quit shaking with anger, she addressed the vacant spot where he had stood. “John Dyer, thundering prophet, self-styled oracle, you know not one whit better than I do about what the Lord’s thinking. I don’t like old men who chase away pretty girls and frighten Christian women into smelling burning sulphur from the pit, just to get them to think like you. I’m as good a Christian as you, and I’m a lot less judgmental.”
“Atta girl.” There was applause behind Amy and she turned to the door. Lizzie was standing there, laughing and clapping.
“Oh, Lizzie!” Amy rushed across the room and hugged the girl. “I didn’t know I had an audience. I do think I will go on the stage. Don’t you think I have a good speech?”
“Yes, and I dare you to go down to the saloon and hop up on a table. If you can make those men clap, then you’ll be a star for certain.”
“Lizzie, that’s silly. You know those men will clap for anything in skirts, and I was teasing. I’m just so angry.”
“I gathered that,” Lizzie replied. Amy looked at her friend. She was pale and the sparkle was gone.
“You don’t look well.”
Lizzie winced and a shadow came into her eyes. “You do know how to make a person feel good.”
“Sorry. Did you know I was up there to see you three weeks ago?”
“Silverheels told me so.” Her eyes were measuring Amy.
“Yes,” she nodded, “they told me that you are—”
The door opened and Amy scooted behind the counter. After the miner collected his letter and counted out the money for the charges, Amy turned back to Lizzie.
The girl’s bright smile was forced, but it was there. “Don’t you fret. Everything will be fine. You know it takes more’n something like this to put us down.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just that you look like you feel sorry for me. Amy, don’t you realize we’re getting out of life just exactly what we want? And I’ve a sneaking hunch that if most of the women were brave enough, they’d admit they want the same. We’re buying pretty clothes and fun, a place to stay and plenty to eat.” Her lips twisted in scorn as she added, “Most either don’t have the courage to go after their desires, or they don’t have the looks to carry it off. I happen to have both.”
Amy was still pondering the remark and wondering at the the feelings she was having. One moment there was a strange thrill over Lizzie’s brave, independent words and the next minute the churning she felt inside made her want to run.
Lizzie was talking again and Amy lifted her head, “What was that?”
“I said, that other preacher man has the same last name as you. Is that a coincidence?” Her curious eyes held Amy’s.
Amy turned and paced the floor.
“He’s my husband.” Amy told Lizzie the whole story, and when she finished, Lizzie was looking at her with a strange expression.
Slowly she said, “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard. You marry a man and he hardly passes you a kiss before you’re both taking off in different directions. So you didn’t get what you wanted the first time you tried to talk him into leaving the territory; is that any reason to give up? If a gal can’t vamp her own husband, how’s she supposed to get anywhere in life? Amy, I got news for you. I think you flunked the first test of being a woman.”
“It was just a dumb thing to do. I was thinking more of escaping that Lucas Tristram than I was of marrying Daniel Gerrett.”
“You wanted to get away from that fellow? He’s got money.” She shook her head. “I got more news for you. I think you’re in love with your husband.”
“I’m not.”
Lizzie sighed patiently. “Amy, once I thought I was in love. He was just a farm boy and I was scared to death of being a farmer’s wife. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if I loved him. Funny, but I still think of him.”