THERE HAD BEEN no money for a stone marker, but because the Barringer family was so well thought of, the mining association put together a collection. Someone voluntarily carved a headstone, chiseling the words PATIENCE BARRINGER, 1865–1897, while someone else agreed to make the casket. The local ladies’ sewing circle came and dressed the body for burial, and the little congregation of the Baptist church brought contributions of food to help the family during their time of loss.
Leah and Jacob Barringer were rather relieved to see the townsfolk rally around them. Their father had spent that first week after their mother’s death in near total silence. He cried a lot at night, and it frightened Leah, who herself felt rather lost without benefit of father or mother. Jacob did his best to remain strong and supportive. He hadn’t teased her at all that week, but instead had surprised her with his kindness. Perhaps the most startling example came when Leah had been fighting to brush her long dark ringlets. Finding her hair hopelessly tangled, she burst into tears, wishing fervently for her mother. Without a word, Jacob had come to her, taken the brush from her hand, and had carefully, lovingly, worked through the tangles until her hair was completely brushed and in order. She had thrown herself into his arms, crying softly against the cotton shirt she had mended only the day before. They’d always been close, but now their bond had strengthened.
‘‘Pa says we’re leaving in just a few more minutes,’’ Jacob called from the side of the little church.
Leah stood beside her mother’s grave. The dirt was still mounded up, and the rocky terrain surrounding the little cemetery looked rather bleak. Leah hated to leave her mother and baby brother there. She had decided for herself that the baby was a boy. Her mother had thought to have another son and call him Benjamin. Leah had figured her mother to know best.
Kneeling in the soft dirt, Leah put a fresh bunch of wild flowers atop the grave. ‘‘We’re leaving now, Mama. Papa says gold has been found up north. He believes we’ll make our fortune there. When we do, I’m coming back to see that you have a beautiful new stone—one that has brother’s name on it as well.’’
She arranged the flowers carefully and ignored the droplets of rain that began to fall. It rained almost religiously every afternoon about this time. Leah had learned to take it in stride along with everything else related to their life in Devil’s Creek.
‘‘I don’t know when I’m coming back, Mama. I don’t know if you can see me in heaven or not, but you told me when I was afraid, I could come to you and tell you. And, Mama, I’m afraid. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t like our new life without you.’’ She tried hard to keep from crying. ‘‘I know you said that God is always with us and that when we’re afraid, the psalms said we could trust in Him. I know that bein’ a good Christian girl is what you want for me, but I’m still scared.’’
Leah glanced up at the sky and let the steadily building rain mingle with her tears. ‘‘I just know you can see me, Mama. Please ask God to help me ’cause Papa just isn’t the same. He’s talking about glory and gold again, but his heart is so sad. Sometimes he just sits there staring at the fireplace, and I don’t know how to make him feel better, ’cause my heart hurts too.’’
‘‘Leah! Come on!’’ Jacob called.
Leah got to her feet and bowed her head for a little prayer. ‘‘Dear God, please keep my mama and little Benjamin safe. Don’t let nothin’ hurt them no more. And, God, if it ain’t too much trouble, could you please help us on our way? My pa doesn’t always think clear. Mama said he’s a dreamer, and I know you understand what that means. So now we’re headin’ off for another one of Papa’s dreams, and I’m afraid.’’
‘‘Leah, Pa says come right now or he’s heading out without you!’’
Leah smiled. She knew better, but the threat meant business nevertheless.
‘‘Amen,’’ she whispered, then with one last glance at her mother’s resting-place, she hurried down the slippery path to where Jacob stood.
‘‘I had to pray,’’ she explained.
‘‘I know,’’ he replied. ‘‘We’re going to need a lot of prayers before this adventure is through.’’
Leah nodded solemnly, and she could tell by the look in Jacob’s eyes that he meant every word.
———
‘‘We’ll stay in Denver long enough to put some money together,’’ Bill explained to the children that night. ‘‘I’ve got a couple of folks who still owe me money, and who knows, maybe they’ve struck it rich while I’ve been away. Anyway, I know Granny Richards will put us up until we can get on our feet.’’
Granny Richards wasn’t really their granny, but the kids knew her to be a kind old woman who had given them treats when they were young. Bill knew the old woman would be delighted to see them again. He could only hope that she was still alive.
There hadn’t been much in the way of possessions to either bring with them or leave behind. Bill felt profound sorrow that in the end, his wife had no more than two dresses to her name and a wooden crate with a few odds and ends of memorabilia. Pots and pans, along with other kitchen goods, and the meager furnishings that had made the cabin a home were hardly a legacy to leave to her children. But, knowing Patience, she’d probably never considered it a problem. She’d left them the important things. She’d given them love and acceptance, hope and a basic understanding of God. Those were the legacies Patience Barringer would want to be known for.
The mining company had owned the property, and because of that, Bill couldn’t even raise a traveling purse by selling off the cabin. Instead, he sold off his furniture and what household supplies he didn’t deem as necessary to take with them north to the Yukon.
Yukon. Even the sound of it promised something exciting and different. With Patience gone, it left only Jacob and Leah to reason with him and keep him from making rash decisions, and neither one of them were in any mood to argue his choice. Not that it would have mattered. Bill knew he couldn’t have remained in the same town where he’d buried Patience and their baby. The very thought would have driven him mad. No, by leaving he could almost pretend that she was still alive—that circumstances had sent her elsewhere. Elsewhere, but not into the grave.
When the trio finally managed to arrive in Denver, no one was prepared for the madhouse of activities. Denver had grown up considerably over the last few years and was now a rather impressive town. Sitting like a sentinel at the base of the Rockies, the town seemed to almost shimmer in the golden summer sun.
Bill wiped sweat from his brow and headed the horse in the direction of the poorer district. Granny Richards, if she still lived, would not have moved. Of that, Bill was certain. She always joked that they would have to take her out feet first, and Bill had no doubt of the old woman’s stubborn determination to make that true.
‘‘When will we get there, Pa?’’ Jacob asked. ‘‘I’m so empty my ribs are touching my backbone.’’
‘‘We ought to be there in a short while. Traffic is pretty bad here. This city is a lot bigger than it used to be. More people and more activities.’’
‘‘More money, too?’’ Leah asked hopefully.
Bill smiled. ‘‘You bet, princess. More people always means more money. People go where the money’s to be had. You’ll see. We’ll be on our way before you know it.’’
They all sighed in relief when they finally found their way to Granny Richards’. The little run-down house wasn’t much to look at, but it beckoned them nevertheless. Bill spotted Granny first thing. She was working the rocky soil at the side of the house. She seemed to work in a rhythm. Hoe a patch, pick out the rocks. Hoe a patch, pick out the rocks.
‘‘Granny!’’ Bill called, jumping off the rickety buckboard.
The old woman looked up and put her hand to her head to shield her eyes from the sun. Lacking the funds and not caring one whit about convention, Granny saved her only straw bonnet for Sundays and church. Because of this, her skin was leathery and brown from the harsh Colorado sun.
‘‘Bill? Bill Barringer?’’ she questioned, limping forward in an awkward manner. No doubt her rheumatism was taking its toll, Bill surmised.
‘‘It’s me,’’ he called and went forward to greet her.
The old woman hugged him with an impressive grip. ‘‘So you’ve come back down out of the clouds.’’
‘‘I have, Granny, but only for the moment.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I was wonderin’ if you could put me and the kids up for a few days?’’
Granny looked past him to the wagon. ‘‘Where’s Patience?’’
Bill looked to the ground. ‘‘Uh, Granny, she passed on.’’
The old woman looked up and nodded. ‘‘The mountains are hard on folks, and your little Patience wasn’t much more than a mite. How’d it happen?’’
‘‘She was trying to deliver a baby. Midwife said she was too small.’’
Again Granny nodded. ‘‘Just a mite. Just a mite. Well, God rest her soul.’’
Bill fumbled for the words. ‘‘I’m. . . well. . . I mean, the children and me—’’
‘‘No nevermind about explaining. You just bring down your things and come inside. Old Granny will fix you up with something to eat, and then we can discuss your plans.’’
Two hours and a full belly later, Bill found Jacob and Leah stretched out asleep on Granny’s bed. He closed the door so as not to disturb them, then went to join Granny for another cup of coffee.
‘‘Heard about gold in the Yukon,’’ he said, as if Granny had asked him where he was headed. ‘‘Nuggets as big as a man’s head. Just lyin’ around for the takin’.’’
‘‘It always is, isn’t it?’’ Granny asked in a knowing tone. She looked at him with steely blue eyes that seemed to bore right through him. ‘‘Have you heard tell yet of a gold rush where the nuggets weren’t as big as your head? What would the attraction be otherwise?’’
Bill shrugged. ‘‘I saw the newspaper. They had a picture and everything. Two boats, one in Seattle and one in San Francisco, and both of them loaded down with gold.’’
‘‘Until you see it firsthand,’’ Granny suggested, ‘‘it’s still just a rumor.’’
‘‘No, Granny, these aren’t just rumors. The papers wouldn’t have run the story otherwise.’’
She laughed. ‘‘Put a lot of stock in papers, do you, boy?’’
‘‘Not near as much as in pictures,’’ Bill admitted. ‘‘I saw the pictures. I’m tellin’ you, Granny, there’s gold in the Yukon.’’
‘‘Bah! Who needs it? Better to do a decent day’s job and be paid a decent wage.’’
‘‘Well, that’s why I’m here,’’ he said, finishing off the coffee. ‘‘I plan to get me enough for the trip north, anyhow.’’
‘‘What about them young’uns?’’
‘‘They’re coming with me. They’ll enjoy the adventure.’’
‘‘What about schoolin’? Their ma, as I recall, held a high opinion of schoolin’.’’
Bill nodded. ‘‘Yes, she did. I’m certain there are schools up north. We’re not the only civilized folks in the world, after all.’’
Granny went to the cupboard and took out a big yellow bowl. She went to the counter and put a smaller, red bowl heaping with green beans inside the first bowl. Bringing both to the table, she sat down and began to snap beans. ‘‘So what kind of work you thinkin’ to find here?’’
‘‘Whatever makes me fast money. I can still deal a pretty fair game of cards,’’ Bill said with a smile. ‘‘You know how it goes, Granny.’’
‘‘Indeed I do,’’ she answered. ‘‘I remember you gettin’ into a fair heap of trouble with them cards, too.’’
Bill shrugged. ‘‘I was just a boy then. Patience. . . well, she changed my mind about games of chance. Guess her death has changed my mind again. At least it’s a way to lay my hands on some cash.’’
‘‘Don’t reckon I can talk you out of it. Hate to see you spending your nights in places better left unvisited. Laws have changed, don’t you know. Some of them activities are more likely to see you in jail rather than the bank.’’
‘‘I don’t plan to put myself in too much danger,’’ he told her. He thought of Patience and how she would have given him the devil for even considering what he was about to do. He had to have money, however, and he had to have it fast. Anyone who understood gold rushes knew that you had to act without hesitation. If not, the land got snapped up before you even had a chance to show your face in the territory.
‘‘Well, the young’uns can stay here with me. The garden needs weedin’ and waterin’. There’s always something they can help with.’’
‘‘Jacob’s big enough to get a job of his own,’’ Bill said rather thoughtfully. He’d not thought of putting his son to work until just that moment. ‘‘Maybe he could deliver groceries or shine shoes. He’s good with horses. Maybe he could work at one of the liveries.’’
‘‘Could be. Sounds a heap better than what you have in mind.’’
Bill yawned and rubbed his bearded chin. ‘‘A man has to do what a man has to do, Granny.’’
‘‘Especially when he’s got no woman to fuss over him and keep him on the straight and narrow path.’’
Bill felt his throat constrict, guilt washing over him. Patience had always talked about the straight and narrow path. She believed that God’s way was far more narrow a path than most folks wanted to believe. Bill considered himself a rather religious man, but he knew God understood when he ventured off the path to one side or the other. In fact, he believed God looked the other way in some of those particularly messy points of life.
‘‘I saw you had a stack of wood in the back,’’ he said, suddenly unable to deal with his own discomfort. ‘‘I’ll just mosey on back there and split some of it for you. I want to earn my keep, after all.’’
‘‘You’d earn it a sight better doing that than gambling it away or dealing in some other underhanded fashion,’’ Granny said, never looking up from her beans. ‘‘Suit yourself.’’
———
Jacob woke up in a pool of sweat. The heat of the Denver afternoon had joined together with a hideous nightmare of being thrown into the pits of hell. Trembling, Jacob eased off the bed so as not to disturb Leah. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and tried to steady his rapid breathing.
From the time he’d been little, Jacob had known that his mother’s fondest wish was for him to accept Jesus as his Savior. In all the days that had followed from that first introduction to the Gospel message, Jacob had known that someday he would be left with a choice between deciding for God—or against Him. But someday always seemed far away. At least it had back then.
Years ago, he had figured his folks to live forever. The reality of death made little impact on his world. He’d known of folks who’d passed on. Had even heard stories of his grandparents and how they had died, but death didn’t seem anything so immediate that he needed to actually make a commitment to God. After all, his mother said, it would be the most important decision in his life.
‘‘Don’t promise God anything, Jacob, unless you intend to keep that promise,’’ she had said. ‘‘Even the Word says it’s better to make no vow at all than to make one and then not keep it.’’
So Jacob had made no vow. Much to his mother’s disappointment.
Now in the dark, musty room, Jacob felt overwhelmed with grief. His knowing God was the one thing his mother had longed for, and he hadn’t even been able to give it to her on her deathbed. He shivered in spite of the heat. He could still see her eyes fixed on his face.
‘‘God knows your heart, Jacob Daniel,’’ she had whispered. ‘‘He knows your mind. Whatever it is that’s troubling you about saying yes to Him—He already knows.’’
Jacob had supposed she had told him this to make him feel better, but instead it only bothered him more. If God knew—truly knew his heart and mind—then He knew that Jacob was a coward.
Leaning against the wall for support, Jacob bit his lower lip to keep from crying. He’d failed his mother and he’d failed God. What hope could there be now?