The storm moved in during the night. It was the first heavy snow of the season, and it made a miracle out of the wounded mining site called Buckskin Joe. Amy awoke to find an icy trickle of white drifting across her bed.
She burrowed deeper in her pile of blankets while she examined the rim of frost lining the crack between the logs.
Her window was a seashell, gleaming first pink and then gold with the sunrise. Unsuccessfully Amy tried to pull her aching nose under the blankets while still viewing that gilded world.
Later that morning, as she trudged through drifts toward the post office, she saw the changes. Log cabins wore towering top hats of white. The stamp mill, moving sluggishly, pounded loose cascades of snow, while the river stacked up slushy waves along the bank.
Amy’s mittened hand had just maneuvered the key into the lock when H.A.W. Tabor came out of his store and hailed her. “No need to waste wood heating the post office today. The stage won’t be through, and I doubt a customer will sail forth on a day like this. Go home and keep warm.”
Amy looked around at the unblemished blanket of snow on the road. “Oh, what a shame to stay indoors. It’s beautiful! If you’re wanting to save wood though, I’ll just take the day to plow around through it.”
“Be careful where you walk. Stay on the trails so you don’t fall down a mine shaft.”
Amy fluttered a mittened hand at him and wound the shawl another turn around her shoulders. The sun, in mid-sky now, had turned the pristine snow into a thousand flashing diamonds.
Mound upon rolling mound beckoned, and Amy tried to climb them all. She passed the last cabin in Buckskin Joe and waded through the snow along the banks of the river.
Just below the waterfall she discovered the graceful branches of the willows had been encrusted with gleaming crystal. On down, away from the frozen waves, the water had taken on an intense blue, a second sky reflected against the snow below.
Above the waterfall the mountain began, and Amy began the ascent. When she stopped to rest, she looked backward toward Buckskin Joe and caught her breath at the sparkling white landscape.
There was a shout behind her—no, up and beyond. A sound distorted by distance and brittle air. She shaded her eyes and saw the dark mark against the white. It was a man striding down the side of the mountain as if he possessed wings for feet.
As his great strides brought him close, Amy could hear him clearly.
See on the mountain top
The Standard of your God:
In Jesus’ name it is lifted up,
All stained with hallowed blood.
Happy, if, with my latest breath,
I may but gasp his name;
Preach him to all, and cry in death,
Behold, behold the Lamb!
It was Father Dyer, and his giant strides were bringing him down beside her. She studied the contraptions on his feet, nearly ready to tease until she saw his face.
When he stopped beside her, she spoke in a whisper, “Father Dyer—your face looks as if you’ve been rubbing it in sunshine!”
“Aye,” he said slowly. Even then the glow was fading. “It is Son shine. I must do that every day or the light will go out.” He looked at her, explaining. “Jesus Christ. You know He’s created this beauty to remind you of eternity. The everlasting, unending eternity of being with Him.”
He paused and thoughtfully studied her face. “A young lady like you should know the joy of rubbing shoulders with Jesus Christ.”
She moved her head impatiently. “Father, you tease.”
“No, I only try to say the unsayable in little bites of understanding. Do you know Romans 8:37? ‘Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors.’ I am rejoicing in the conqueror attitude today. There’s not one thing in our life that He won’t give us the ability to overcome.”
His voice softened as he quoted, “‘For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ That’s the other two verses.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think there’s something you need to overcome.” They started back toward Buckskin Joe together.
Amy was silent until the pain became too great. “Father Dyer,” she said carefully, trying for the amusing touch, “you would not quote that verse so easily if you lived with the ghosts of the past.”
“You assume I don’t. Come, my child, and I’ll tell you the story of my past. I married young, had five beautiful children and then my sweetheart wife died very suddenly, and shortly thereafter our little daughter died.
“With four children to raise I needed a wife, and I soon found one. At the time, Amy, I was a prosperous man, with money in the bank and good land with a clear title. Before long, that pretty-faced woman showed her true colors.
“Not only was I left penniless, but I also discovered I was third in line in her affections.” Amy frowned and Father Dyer explained. “She hadn’t bothered to divorce her first two husbands.”
Amy fumbled for a reply. Father Dyer said, “People hurt each other; that’s the ugly part of being human. But there’s something even more ugly—not being able to forgive.”
Her smile was full of pain. “Father Dyer, I’m sorry that you’ve been—”
He cut in, “You may find it hard to understand what I’m really saying, and I don’t know why I told you this. There’re few who know my story.”
Amy looked at the ground as she said, “If you think it’s about Daniel and me, well—”
“No,” he answered gently, “I haven’t probed, and I won’t. Yesterday was only impulse. I wanted you two together just on the chance you might be able to clear the matter between you.”
“It didn’t work, and it won’t.”
“Well, let’s go before you take cold. I can see your feet are wet.”
When they rounded the last hill, they were back on the trail to Buckskin Joe. Before them stood Father Dyer’s cabin.
As they walked around the cabin, he looked at her wet feet. “Do you want to—” They both stopped. A woman in a flowing black cloak turned.
“Silverheels!” Amy gasped, looking from the woman to Daniel standing in the doorway. Their faces were sober.
With a sigh of relief, Silverheels came to Amy. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s Lizzie. She’s—”
“I just knew something was terribly wrong!” Amy cried, reaching for the woman’s velvet cloak. “Please, what is it?”
“She’s very ill,” Daniel spoke up. With a quick glance at Silverheels he stepped between them. “Amy, it’s possible she won’t live. I’ll go with you, unless you’d rather have John.”
“But why—” She stopped and looked at their faces. “I’ve never had something like this happen—Daniel, please come.”
Silverheels led the way, walking rapidly down the road. The snow was now scarred by feet and split by deep brown furrows—a scene that stamped itself on Amy’s mind: the ugly marks man had made.
Quickly they crossed the meadow. When they reached the boardinghouse, Silverheels veered away from the front door. Daniel and Amy followed her around the sprawling building and into the trees behind. There was a tiny log cabin nearly hidden in the trees and underbrush.
Amy saw smoke puffing from the chimney. Silverheels walked in ahead of them and spoke to the woman bending over the cot. “Mattie, you may go now and rest. Get some dinner and I’ll come after you later.”
The face tossing against the pillows was flushed. Amy watched, unable to believe this creature was the Lizzie she knew.
Silverheels looked at Amy. “She asked for you. Don’t just stand there.”
The tossing figure on the bed quieted and she opened her eyes. “Amy?”
“Lizzie, I’m here. What’s happened, why—”
The cold voice came from behind Amy. “She tried to get rid of the baby. I told her no—it’s always better to wait it out. But she was impatient—had to get on with life.”
Over the click of her heels Silverheels said, “I’ll be back later.”
Daniel moved to the other side of the cot. Amy said, “Lizzie, this is—my husband, Daniel.”
For a moment her eyes were clear. “So there really is a Mr. Gerrett. I’ve been wondering how could a married lady be so dumb about life. She—” Her eyes closed.
Timidly Amy reached for her hand. “Daniel, she’s so hot!”
The minutes passed and Lizzie opened her eyes. Now Amy understood how weak she was. Lizzie whispered, “Amy, sing.”
“Shall I sing Camptown Races?”
She shook her head slowly and whispered, “Hymns. About the blood.”
“Blood?” Amy questioned. She started to protest, but Daniel’s eyes were holding her. Settling back on her heels beside the bed, Amy began to sing softly, “What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus…. For my pardon this I see, nothing but the blood of Jesus. For my cleansing this my plea, nothing but the blood of Jesus. Oh, precious is the flow that makes me white as snow …”
Lizzie opened her eyes again, tried to raise herself as she looked at Daniel. “I wish—I could undo life.” She tried to smile. “Guess it’s too late, isn’t it? But oh, God, how scared I am!”
She looked at Amy. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I used to be a nice girl like you. The religion didn’t take too well.”
“What do you mean?”
There was a slight shrug and Lizzie’s hand touched her flushed face. “I wanted excitement.”
Daniel leaned over the bed. “Lizzie, it isn’t too late. His atonement is still good for you. The blood will wash—”
“I’m scared. I never thought hard enough about what I was doing. It’s too late.” The tears crept from under her eyelids and she seemed to doze.
Abruptly Lizzie was shaking her head. “I’d be lower than a snake to run asking now. I chose—”
Amy gasped, “Lizzie! you’d let your pride keep you from asking for forgiveness—mercy?” Daniel was watching her. She backed away.
Daniel murmured, “Lizzie, don’t play games. You made a mistake once; don’t do it again in the name of pride.” He settled down beside her and said, “The words of that song are for every one of us. We all must come to Jesus and ask for His forgiveness. You see, He’s God, come to this earth to die for our sins. By believing this, you have the privilege of being called a child of God.”
She turned her head slowly on the pillow. “It’s too late. I had my chance, now—”
“It isn’t. It is never too late to say you’re sorry, that you want to accept the atonement sacrifice for your own sins.” Her eyes were open. Amy saw the expression and turned away. Behind her Daniel was still talking, bending over the girl.
Amy went to stand by the door. That terror on Lizzie’s face. She was still shivering when Silverheels came in. Glancing at Lizzie and Daniel before turning to Amy, she said, “You’re cold and wet. Go home now, before you catch something.”
When Amy shrugged, Silverheels spoke more sharply. “You can’t go out in that shawl; it’s wet.” She pulled the shawl from Amy and dropped it to the floor.
Before Amy could protest, Silverheels slipped out of the black velvet cloak she was wearing and threw it around Amy’s shoulders. “There. It’s a little long, but it’ll do. Now go.”
The black velvet smelled of Silverheels’ perfume. Amy stared up at her, tongue-tied, confused. Unexpectedly, the woman kissed Amy on the cheek. “Now, go. Drink something hot and get into bed or you’ll be ill.”
Numb with fatigue, Amy obeyed. When she reached the Tabors’, Augusta brought heated stones and hot tea. While Amy pulled her nightgown over her head, Augusta hung the black velvet cloak to dry.
“Beautiful—and costly. Just like you’d expect a woman of Silverheels’ reputation to have. But she was generous—I’d not expect that of her. It’s a little wet around the hem, that’ll dry soon. Now get some sleep. You’ve got to play the organ tonight. We can’t get along without you.”
Those final words greeted Amy when she awakened, recalling her to the duty of the evening. As she rolled over, she saw the black cloak hanging on the back of the door.
Slowly she pulled herself out of bed and dressed. Although she selected the dark calico designed for revival meetings, her thoughts weren’t on the evening service. She was thinking of Lizzie—weak, flushed, and crying as Daniel prayed.
When Amy left the organ to sit with the others clustered in tight rows across Augusta’s parlor, Father Dyer stood to preach, while Amy’s thoughts were fleeing back to Lizzie.
He began his sermon, but Amy found herself unable to escape the memory of Lizzie. She’s caught. Like a butterfly in a net, trapped. She’s no longer free to choose how she will live. Lizzie can no longer choose life.
When he opened his Bible, John Dyer looked at Amy and said, “Take hold of life. Life is there, waiting for us. But we claim our rightful heritage only through Jesus Christ. The Apostle Paul’s letter to the Philippians uses the word ‘apprehended.’ He is saying he takes hold of life for the same purpose that Jesus Christ took hold of him. Are you aware of God’s design for your life? Take hold of life.”
Amy lost the thread of Father Dyer’s message. Again thinking of Lizzie, she felt a moment of bitterness. But Lizzie chose; at some point she chose. Was it Daniel who said we must live with our decisions? She shivered.
When she looked up, it was time to play the organ. The evening was gone. It took all the discipline Amy could muster to touch those keys and sing with her leaden heart, “Almost persuaded, harvest is past…. Almost cannot avail…. Sad sad …”
As she fled toward the stairs, she met Daniel. With his hand on her arm and bending down to look into her face, he said, “Lizzie has gone to be with her Savior. Just after you left, she slipped into a coma.”
“What makes you think she’s gone to heaven?”
His expression was strange. “I would have expected you to guess. She was coming home, back to Him. A prodigal daughter. Amy, no matter what the sin, if we ask, He will take us back.”
His hand was still upon her and he must have felt her trembling. They both waited, then Daniel dropped his hand and turned away.
“Amy.” As she hesitated on the stairs, he came up to her. His eyes were on a level with hers as he said, “I’m leaving tomorrow. But Amy, I’ll be back. I can’t leave without your knowing that. I’ll pray for you.”
Still feeling the pressure, Amy protested, “Pray that I will change my mind and stay? Daniel, I want only—” She stopped and for a moment her heart yearned after him. She nearly said love, but she reminded herself; then I will have lost it all.
“Amy”—his hand rested on her arm—”I’m not talking about that. There’s only one thing I have in mind. It’s your relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ. Amy, you need Him, and that’s my dearest desire.”
She looked down the stairs to the ring of faces watching, while the disappointment welled up in her heart.