“You’re lucky, young lady. Bad storm for November. A week ago the stage wouldn’t have been able to make it up the canyon from Denver. One thing about Colorado Territory, you can’t take the weather too seriously. Winter one day, spring the next.”
The driver dropped Amy’s valise on the boardwalk in front of Joe’s store and lifted his hand. “Here ya are, Central City, it is.”
Amy stepped gingerly through the mud and followed the driver into the store. Joe grinned at her. “Well, Miss Amy! I heard you got married. If you’ve come to visit, you should have written first. Your pa’s off in Denver City to a church meeting.”
“Denver!” Amy gasped. “I’ve just come from there. I didn’t know.” She sighed and thought of her dwindling funds.
Joe said, “If you want, I’ll carry your bag to the house for you. Need any groceries?”
Amy nodded and went to select flour and eggs. “That should do for now.” Handing him the coins she added, “The town’s changed. So many new places built up. Coming from Mountain City I couldn’t tell when we reached Central City.”
Joe nodded and went after the valise. “Some are saying it’ll be all one big city in another year or so. Used to be that you could spot Gregory’s diggings right off; now the whole place is one big diggings, and more fellows are coming every day. Me? I think I’m getting rich quicker than most the diggers.”
They reached the cabin and Joe waited until Amy found the key and opened the door. Dropping the valise, he shook his head over the coin she offered and left.
After her initial disappointment, Amy began to realize that solitude was a soothing hand, straightening out the roughness of her life, softening the memory of Silverheels’ last words.
Shaking her head over her father’s absent-minded housekeeping, Amy rolled up her sleeves and threw her sore heart into making order of the shambles in the cabin.
She finished housekeeping, but Eli hadn’t returned. Amy mended the frayed window curtain, still brooding over the painful memories of Silverheels’ rejection.
As Amy sewed, she remembered Daniel mentioned needing curtains for his windows. She sighed over him as she tried to remember all he had told her about his house and the meadow with the columbine and wild iris.
Later she rummaged through a box and found the curtain that had hung in front of Aunt Maude’s bunk. “Just big enough. I’ll make curtains for Daniel.” Trying to avoid thinking about him, Amy measured off a length, muttering, “Knowing what I do about the mining camps, I guess Daniel’s windows will be the standard, ready-framed ones, just like these.” She got the scissors and began cutting.
When the last hem had been stitched, she used Aunt Maude’s embroidery floss to add a touch of color to the curtains. And then she folded them away. “Silly,” she chided herself. “Making curtains for Daniel, and you’ll likely never see him again.”
After finishing the curtains, she climbed the well-remembered hill to Clara Brown’s little cabin. Amy cocked her head and smiled. Most certainly Aunt Clara was at home; the dear little cabin nearly vibrated with her singing.
Aunt Clara hugged Amy and held her off to study her. “Land child, skin and bones, you are. Looks like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders. Did you come to tell Aunt Clara about it?” She shoved a stool forward, poured coffee for Amy, and then returned to her ironing.
“Where’s Barney Ford?”
“Got himself a claim over the ridge. He keeps so busy I don’t see much of him anymore. Comes over for church sometimes.”
Amy sipped coffee and murmured, “It’s good to be back. I suppose you know Father is in Denver.”
Clara nodded as she swished her iron briskly over a white shirt. Slanting a mischievous glance at Amy, she said, “This here is Lucas Tristram’s shirt. Wanna deliver it for me?”
Amy’s eyes widened, and Aunt Clara hastily said, “Jest joking with you.” She chuckled silently and her whole round frame shook. Rubbing a palm over her eyes, she grinned at Amy, saying, “I never expected that turn of events. Right out from under Tristram’s nose. That’s what he gets for being too uppity for camp meeting. Shore ’fraid you were going to hitch up your wagon to that fella’s, and I was prayin’ nearly night and day that God would break it up.
“Didn’t know He’d supply the need so abrupt-like, though. Now, that Daniel Gerrett is about the best young man around.” Her iron slowed. In the silence, she asked, “Child, you happy and pregnant?”
“Neither,” Amy said slowly, pushing her mug round the table. “Daniel and I can’t agree on anything.”
“Like your piano playing?”
“How did you find out?”
“Think those dance-hall girls could keep anything like that under their hat? Pretty good joke, the preacher’s young’un sneaking off to play the piano honky-tonk when her pa’s not looking. Guess everyone in town knew except Aunt Maude.”
Amy winced. “Father?”
“Oh, sure.” Her keen eyes were studying Amy. “Takes a mite of growing up before a young’un can appreciate older folks, ’specially if she’s related to ’em.”
Amy continued to study the burned mark on the table. “But you talk about Lucas like you haven’t heard any gossip concerning him.”
Aunt Clara picked up the iron. She studied Amy. “I don’t know what you’re referring to. There’s always a little rumbling on about him, but—”
“Then it’s obvious it’s been hushed up.”
“Child, did he mistreat you?”
Amy grinned. “No, why? Was he roughed up?”
Aunt Clara slowly shook her head, saying, “I see I ain’t going to get anything outta you. That’s fine. I’m happy the way it all ended.” In a moment Aunt Clara said, “Seems you have a mite on your mind. I don’t have anything to do except iron and listen.”
Those bruising words just like your mother were lying hard against Amy’s heart. Of all that happened that afternoon at Silverheels’ house, they alone had the power to keep her trembling in the quiet times.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try some of the ideas on Aunt Clara. She, more than anyone, would listen and understand.
Amy took a deep breath and began. “Do you think just because a person’s father was a horse thief that his children are bound to follow in his footsteps?”
“‘Course not. Bound? No. But he might take a liking to thieving if he doesn’t know better.”
“Then you think a person can better himself by trying?”
She nodded and her iron slowed again. “Git the feeling I’m walking myself into a trap. Amy, child, the only way you can learn to wash your face of a morning is by practice. You earn your living by doing a job better’n the fella standing behind you waitin’ for you to fail. You do and do and do, but that’s not going to count a penny’s worth with God unless you’re doing it the right way. Was that the trap you was backing me into?”
“Aunt Clara, I wasn’t backing you anywhere. I am just trying to understand—life.”
“God?” Aunt Clara said. Amy thought about that for a time; then she nodded. Aunt Clara looked at Amy in a way that seemed to pierce far too deep. She pushed the iron back and forth. “You gotta want God more’n anything else in this whole world. Anything less’n that won’t work, ’cause in a tight place, you’ll toss it all out. There’s a kind of religion that gets you to sign your name on the dotted line, and then it’s all forgot about. That’s not the way it has to be.”
She pushed the iron again and Amy thought she had forgotten her until Aunt Clara placed the iron on the stove and turned. With hands on her hips, she said soberly, “Seems more often than not, God has to let a body get in a tight spot before he sees he wasn’t made to handle life without the Lord’s help.”
“Then why—” Amy stopped. She just couldn’t bring out those words Silverheels had said. Wasn’t it possible Silverheels knew better than this ignorant washer-woman the unseen forces that could twist and push a person where he didn’t want to go? Amy sighed and got to her feet.
Somehow, knowing what she was inside, it seemed easier to believe Silverheels, and that was frightening.
The next day Eli Randolph returned to Central City. When he stood in the doorway and Amy looked at his ashen face, she couldn’t help wondering what his reaction would be if she were to tell him about Silverheels. But she had promised.
He stepped into the house, dropped his valise, and said, “You’ve tidied up my mess. Looks like a home again.”
“You’re not going to ask where I’ve been or what’s happening?”
“Do you want to tell me?”
Amy considered. The thought was cheering. Father was treating her like a grown-up. She didn’t have to answer. She looked up at him and grinned. “Since I’m here, as you can see, well, I’ll just keep quiet until I decide what to do next.”
That wasn’t enough. She saw the disappointment on his face and tried to smooth over the words. “Father, I know you like Daniel. But that marriage should never have happened. I’ve been working at the post office in Buckskin Joe, thinking and trying to decide what I do want. Maybe I should just go back east and live with Uncle Malcolm and get a job.”
She turned away, saying, “I’ve been up to see Aunt Clara.” That didn’t help. She took a deep breath and said, “What would you like for your dinner?”
She saw the lost look in his eyes. For just one moment, Amy wished she were young enough to sit on his lap again. She also wished she didn’t have all these problems.
****
November was gone. December, in typical, unpredictable mountain fashion, was warm and sunny. Amy’s birthday passed without notice. All the while she chafed at her restricted, pointless life, which seemed circumvented by church, home, Aunt Clara, and the grocery store.
Except for the piano money, her tiny funds were evaporating, and still Amy lingered in Central City, uncertain and unable to decide what to do.
When her restlessness surfaced, her father looked at her over the top of his book and reminded in a mild chiding tone, “Wartime in the states doesn’t make life safe in the territories. Better stay until spring at least.” He seemed about to say more and thought better of it.
Amy tried to be satisfied with the thought that he needed her. But with the balmy weather, Eli began riding his circuit over the mountains to the congregations scattered from Nevada Gulch to Russell Gulch.
The Methodist Episcopal Church in Central City had changed. Amy began seeing the people in contrast to the Central City of a year ago. Now there were families with small children, young wives with shadowed eyes and young miners with restless eyes. All reflected the emotions of excitement and fear rampant in a camp promising both instant wealth and instant disaster. But the church continued to grow both in numbers and acceptance among the townspeople.
The Sunday after Amy’s birthday, Lucas Tristram came to church. When he walked back into her life, Amy was struck again by differences. His tall silk hat and spotless suit marked a night and day contrast to the other members of the congregation.
She guessed, from the flutter of attention moving through the crowd, that Lucas hadn’t been to services for a long time. She also noticed the dismay on her father’s face in his quick glance at her.
When the service was over and the people were out on the street, Lucas came to bend over her hand. His eyes mocked her, challenged her. “You look surprised,” he murmured. “I am wondering what you are thinking.”
“That half the price of your finery would buy a piano for this dismal place.”
He blinked. “Amy, my dear, you’ve changed.”
She whispered, “Aren’t you glad? At least I consider myself a little more sophisticated. Or would you rather I stay a little girl?”
“No,” he said hastily. Examining every detail of her face, he added, “On the contrary. I can’t get too fond of a timid mouse, even if she happens to be the most beautiful mouse in all of Colorado Territory.”
“And you, Lucas Tristram, are capable of getting by with the most outrageous actions of any person I’ve met.”
His eyes were wary. “Tell me what you mean by that.”
She waited until she saw the uneasiness in his eyes. “I’ve heard of the number of mines you’ve acquired in the past year; I’ve also heard of the number you’ve sold at a considerable profit.”
He grinned down at her. “It takes money to make money, and that seems to work in Central City.”
“It helps to have a smooth tongue. Did you know that Lizzie is dead?”
His smile faded, “The girl from the dance hall? How should I know?”
“I didn’t think you would, but she remembered you. I hear the Wilsons left Central City just about the time I left.”
Abruptly he changed the subject. “Amy, the absence of a bridegroom makes me bold enough to ask if you care to go riding this afternoon? I’ve a new carriage and I’d like to try it out.”
She laughed. “Oh, Lucas, you will always be the most outrageous person alive. You’ll go down in history as Colorado’s most famous symbol.”
They went riding in the new carriage, recklessly charging through town and down the canyon road. As Amy clung to her hat, a sharp picture of the two of them flashed across her mind. It brought to mind the more ancient picture of dance-hall girls, pelting through town in a wild, reckless race. They, too, had daring eyes shining with excitement.