Amy pulled on the white kid gloves. Lucas had given them to her, saying it was a late birthday gift. Eli watched. “Father, please don’t fuss. This is a stuffy old reception at the town hall. Lucas asked me to go with him because it is unpleasant for him, being the only unmarried man at these meetings. The other men bring their wives.”
Eli’s face was a map of his emotions, creased with valleys of pain and despair. After years of his gentle chiding, she could hardly believe her ears. He straightened and said, “Daughter, you are edging close to being more than a friend to Lucas. It disturbs me.”
“You know I’m being honest about all this. Father, I know for a fact just how important Lucas is, not only in Central City, but also in church. I’ve watched him when the offering plate is passed.”
“That’s so, but may I remind you, he was an absent church member until one Mrs. Daniel Gerrett moved back to town. I don’t like it.” Eli’s frown took on thundercloud furrows.
Hearing Lucas’s carriage, Amy quickly fluttered her fingers as she backed out the door. “I won’t be late.”
Lucas tucked the robe around Amy, patting it close. She battled the new irritation. Since she had accepted the gloves, she had noticed Lucas’s hand lingered too long, no matter where it landed.
Smiling at her, Lucas said, “After the reception”—he maneuvered the carriage around and headed down the street—“I want to show you my new house. The last carpet is spread and the last picture hung.”
“Oh, it sounds elegant for Central City.”
“It isn’t so unusual. There’s lots of gold being pulled out right now.”
It was dusk when Lucas and Amy left the reception alone. He saw her quick glance and answered it with a smile. “I won’t forget your reputation. We’ll be there only a few minutes.”
The house was high on the hill bordering Eureka Gulch. From the veranda Amy could see lights glowing up and down the gulch. Amy paced the white frame house, measuring off its spacious rooms and elegantly appointed furnishings.
She saw Lucas’s slightly mocking smile as he watched her delight. She also saw him raise one eyebrow in an undeniable question mark as they left the house.
Sunday afternoons picked up their old pattern. It started with Lucas giving Aunt Clara a ride home from church. Soon it became a weekly event, the rollicking ride in his carriage on Sunday afternoon after dropping Aunt Clara.
Making it a point to ignore Aunt Clara’s frown, Amy decided: It’s fun and harmless, like a fairy tale—but that’s all.
All—until she helped Aunt Clara Brown carry a bag of flour up to her cabin. “You stay and have coffee with this old lady. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a visit, now that you’ve been going places with that Tristram.” Aunt Clara stowed the flour away in the battered lard pail and went to stuff wood in the stove.
She sat down in her rocking chair and fanned her perspiring face. “My, seems impossible that a body can work up a sweat in January. No matter; we’ll be getting it another week or so. I feel it in my bones. It’ll be the best storm of the winter.”
“What else do you feel in your bones?” Amy teased.
“That you’re a-playing with fire.” Aunt Clara leaned over and patted Amy’s knee. “Child, it burdens my heart to see you so. I know it’s harmless, but most bad things start with the good getting outta hand.”
“Father’s frowning just like you, but he doesn’t say much and that’s good.” Amy said with a laugh. “My intentions are totally honorable. I’m going to get Lucas to buy a piano for the church.”
Clara gasped and for a moment her eyes softened. “Piano! Oh how I would love to hear the music!” But just as abruptly her expression changed. “You should be guarding your reputation a little better. You could hurt your pa and Daniel Gerrett.”
“Daniel won’t be around again,” Amy said, and then nearly squirmed over the unexpected catch in her voice.
Aunt Clara studied her with an unwavering gaze for a long time. When she got up to fill the coffeecups with the fresh-brewed coffee, Amy thought the matter finished.
Settling back in her chair, Aunt Clara said, “This here fresh coffee smells so good, and it always brings me to mind of a scripture. Don’t know why. Maybe it’s ’cause I drink coffee in the mornings while I’m getting ready to have my prayer time.”
Amy sipped the coffee and waited. Clara continued, “It’s the part in Matthew where Jesus’s talking about putting new wine in new bottles. Couldn’t understand it until the word perish began to penetrate this thick skull. Bottles don’t perish, but people do. You take the Holy Ghost. The heavenly Father can’t go putting the Holy Ghost in these old petrified bottles without doing something to us first, lest we break apart under the pressure. New bottles, new wine; He’s giving new treasures, even a new creation and a new covenant.”
Amy waited while Aunt Clara drank coffee, rocked and chuckled. “I could go on and on—new self, new mind. Bless my soul, it’s exciting to think of all the new in heaven, but right down on this earth—well.” The delight faded from Aunt Clara’s eyes and she leaned forward. “Little missy, that’s what you need. I’ve seen it in your eyes. A girl less’n twenty with eyes like an old lady is asking for trouble.”
Amy left Aunt Clara’s house fuming inside. It was bad enough to have Aunt Clara preach, but it was the final straw to have her look at her with that expression—sad, or was it just plain frightened?
Amy snorted. Halfway down the hill, Amy passed the spot where she had first seen Aunt Clara, sitting at the side of the road, with her face shining, praising the Lord. Amy’s angry steps slowed, and by the time she reached home she was chewing her lip.
Father was at home, submerged in the stack of books in front of him. The stew was bubbling peacefully on the stove and after a second, Amy went to find her Bible and search for the scripture. Aunt Clara had mentioned Matthew. As she turned the pages she remembered that Father Dyer had said God never asks anything of a person without providing the grace needed to accomplish His purposes.
Strange. Now it seemed important to heed the advice Daniel gave at revival meeting. Amy began reading her Bible in the evenings. But while Amy’s nighttime thoughts were a goad toward improvement, they were interrupted.
Before she would sleep, the old half-formed desires would arise in her. Later the deep hours of the night brought dreams of Silverheels. Surrounded by luxury she beckoned Amy, whispering: Like mother, like daughter.
In rational daylight hours, Amy sighed over life and chafed at the lack of activity. “Father, I just can’t stay here in Central City. It isn’t fair to you. I earned my keep in Buckskin Joe, but I’ve failed to find any employment at all since I’ve come back.
“People are still thinking of me as Father’s little girl, too young for a job.”
His expression was strange. “More likely they’re expecting you to go be with your husband. Not much sense in hiring someone ready to leave.”
Amy couldn’t answer. How would she dare tell Father her real desires? Kansas, a job, a piano—
Looking at his lined face and troubled eyes, Amy felt a pang of guilt for her selfish desires. “You are so alone. I wish Aunt Maude had stayed.”
But before spring, they had more heavy snow and in the isolation and boredom Lucas was there. She began seeing him on a regular basis. She knew the flirtation was harmless, but Father’s silence and his troubled eyes made her increasingly uneasy. She knew what he was thinking. Someday soon she must explain why her divorce wouldn’t be wrong.
In the midst of the storms, Amy spent the largest portion of her hoarded money on a length of violet velvet. She did so ignoring the inner chiding that reminded her there was no longer money enough for the stage fare to Kansas.
The snowy days brought forth on a number of parties, and Amy knew she would be expected to attend with Lucas. As she wrestled the velvet into a dress to wear to the parties, Amy explained to Eli, “I don’t like spending the money, but I’m getting very shabby. Besides, these parties are important to all of Central City.
“Father, you just have no idea what is happening—the development, the mining claims. Lucas says this town is attracting international interest. I think Lucas will be a very influential person in Central City in the future. He appreciates my going to these functions with him.”
Soon she was seeing the renewed ardor in Lucas’s eyes. Even while trying to keep the church piano firmly in mind, that look made Amy uneasy. But it also excited her.
Central City’s first vaudeville theatrical was held in the new fire station. At the reception afterwards in the mayor’s home, Lucas bent close to her as they stood in the cloak room. Glancing over his shoulder to the crowd beyond the open door, he murmured, “Amy, let’s get out of here. I’m tired of all this. Come with me up to the house for a bit.”
When she tilted her head to look at him, he pressed his lips to her cheek and then sought her mouth. “My darling,” he murmured. Shock held her motionless for a moment, long enough for another kiss. With a gasp she moved away from his restraining hand, rubbing her lips as she wheeled around. “Lucas, I am—” She had nearly said the word she had been ignoring. How could she say married when her actions were denying it?
Turning, she straightened her shoulders and said, “I’m tired, too. Please take me home.” The sardonic, knowing smile on his lips shocked Amy. As the anger began to gather in her, the picture of that cabin flashed across Amy’s mind. Last year she ran away from Lucas after seeing him there with Mrs. Wilson. She faced his smile again. He paused and then moved to kiss her again. Going to the door, she said, “Lucas, I’ll walk home; it’s only a few blocks.”
Through compressed lips, he said, “I’ll not let that happen. Get your wrap.”
The ride home was silent and swift. Amy knew nothing except the incredible sensation of being soiled deeper than it seemed possible. It was too late, she knew, to say to Lucas the things she had intended to say to Father. Too late and unnecessary.
But anger wasn’t justified. By the time they reached the cabin, Amy realized she was all those things Lucas thought. She said, “Please, Lucas. I beg you, stay away. I know this seems like a farce, but I didn’t intend—” She slipped out of the carriage before the tears came. It helped that he didn’t follow, and that he snapped the whip over the back of his horse with an angry crack.
Night after night Amy would awaken in the midst of a dream in which she was trying to scrape filth from her apron. Though once a spotless white, the apron was reduced to a tattered, soiled rag, in spite of all her efforts.
Then with her life in limbo, Father came with a worried frown. “Aunt Clara is poorly. I heard it at the store. I’ve bought a chicken for you to make soup.”
She prepared the soup, and Father said, “I’ll go too. She’ll need wood cut.”
Aunt Clara threw a towel over her head, lamenting, “’Tis a disgrace. Only the dying need a body to wait on them. I’m well enough.” But she ate the soup while Eli chopped the wood and stacked it in the corner, close to the stove.
Amy brewed tea and heated the flat irons. “You stay in bed; I’ll iron these shirts. I’ve done Father’s often enough to know how these collars are to be ironed.”
Aunt Clara dozed under the pile of blankets while Amy ironed and set the soup on the stove to heat. Eli dumped the last load of wood in the corner and said, “If you’re finished, I’ll take the shirts down to the store. Joe’ll see the men get them.”
After he left, Aunt Clara sat up in bed and remarked, “Overcome is as good as new.”
“Oh, dear,” Amy murmured, going quickly to the bed. She reached for the blankets with one hand and Aunt Clara’s head with the other.
“Now, you listen to me.” Aunt Clara dodged the hand. “I’m telling you more. New is good, but overcome is better.”
“What ever are you talking about?” Amy asked, bending over the bed.
“Scripture. The overcoming verses. Most in the book of Revelation.” Aunt Clara struggled to sit up. “I been reading them. Listen. The overcomers get to eat of the tree of life, and they won’t be hurt by the second death. We get to eat of the hidden manna and have a new name. To those that overcome there’ll be power over nations, whatever that means.
“I like most about having white raiment, and having my name in the book of life. Jesus himself will talk about us to the Father, giving Him our name. Can’t you just see it? Jesus up there saying, ‘This here is Aunt Clara Brown, she’s my child.’ Whoopie!” She paused to cough before adding, “Amy, child, sometimes this old earth gets tiring, but ’tis easy to struggle along when you look at heaven.”
“Aunt Clara, do you want me to stay up here tonight? You’re—”
“Jest fine.” She leaned back against the pillows and now the shrewd old eyes were studying Amy’s face. “I’ve been hearing things, child. Amy, do ya’ll know the difference between angel men and demon men?”
“One’s—”
She was nodding her head. “It’s what the Lord has done in them through the blood of Jesus. You rear up and flaunt yourself, and you become like the devil. You get on your knees and plead with the Father, and He cleans out your old heart and makes it all new. That’s the overcomers through the blood of the Lamb.”
She settled back in bed, and Amy prepared to leave. Abruptly she spoke again. “Amy, what are you craving? I mistrust cravings a whole lot. Go home and read Ephesians, chapter two and verse three.”
Amy went home without any intention of reading. But she was frowning. It was serious, Aunt Clara ranting on and on about religion.
She asked Eli, “Do you think she’s dying?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Of course not. She’ll be fine.” He looked at Amy, frowning as he said, “If you’re deciding she sounded—irrational, well, there’s been few women I esteem more than Aunt Clara.” After another pause he added, “A Bible scholar, yes. I do believe she has more Bible heart-knowledge than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Before going to bed, Amy looked up Ephesians and read: Children of disobedience…fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind…by nature children of wrath…But God who is rich in mercy—As she crawled into her bunk she was thinking of Lucas, of his passionate kiss, and that dream. Like mother, like daughter.