by Carla Kelly
“I didn’t expect that,” Della said, perking up. “How in the world can we afford such a place?”
“Is twenty dollars a month agreeable?” Amanda asked.
“That can’t possibly be, but yes, provided we both find work, and soon.”
“There is a sort of shed that would easily serve as a shop for a man inclined to work with wood,” Amanda added. “You know, someone like your Owen.”
“Someone like,” Della agreed. “Make it completely perfect, and tell me it is not too far from here so we can visit, and convenient to walking everywhere.”
Amanda clapped her hands together. “It’s perfect! Wait until I tell Jesse.”
She put her arm around Della. “If twenty a month is too high, we’ll lower it to fifteen—anything to help you two get a good start.”
Della was certain she had cried every tear in her body, but she was wrong. She leaned against Amanda and wept in the dark parlor.
“Dear, dear me,” Amanda crooned. “It’s going to get better. I just know it. Whatever we can do to help.” She cleared her throat. “Since you’re already crying, this shouldn’t burden you too much more: Don’t worry about furniture. Mr. Auerbach himself telephoned me and asked what you might need. He brought it by yesterday. In person.”
Della accepted a handkerchief from Amanda. “A house. Furniture.” She blew her nose. “How can I even begin to thank you?”
“No need,” Amanda said, her voice serious. “This is many long overdue payments for what you richly deserve, Della Davis. You may tell me not to, but I will always regret that no one helped you when you came from Colorado with that nametag around your neck, after your father died. I wish I had been more aware of your … your difficult life in my cousin’s household.”
The dark room began to work on Della. All it lacked was Owen. “I’m so tired,” she murmured. “Could I … could you just cover me with a blanket right here?”
“I can and will,” Amanda said. “Need any help?”
Della shook her head. She was down to her shift by the time Amanda returned with a pillow and blanket. Without a word, she lay down on the sofa, curling up because it was too short. Amanda tucked the blanket around her, kissed her cheek, and closed the pocket doors as she left the room.
Must pray, Della thought. She got off the sofa and knelt by it, resting her head on the seat.
Amanda found her there in the morning, still kneeling, still sleeping, Owen on her mind and in her heart. She barely remembered a blanket wrapped around her as she followed her hostess down the hall to another room, where she returned to sleep in a real bed. She remembered Amanda telling her something about Sunday School, and that she would take Angharad, but that was all. She woke late in the afternoon to find Angharad curled beside her, asleep. Della watched her face, remembering that Owen had told her how much she resembled Gwyna, with her long eyelashes, heart-shaped face, and prominent cheekbones. “You’re going to be a beautiful woman, Angharad,” she whispered.
She dressed quietly and brushed her hair, hungry now and hoping there was something left over from Sunday dinner in the kitchen. She peeked into the parlor first, where she had started her night.
Amanda looked up from the book she was frowning at and closed it.
“Thank goodness you’re awake. I was getting tired of pretending to read an improving work, when I really want to show you your new house.” She laughed. “After some roast beef and mashed potatoes?”
Della nodded, happy to turn herself over to someone else to make decisions and smooth her path.
“Angharad will be fine and I know you don’t want to wake her,” Amanda said a half hour later as they walked the short two blocks to Della’s new home. “My housekeeper will keep an eye on her when she wakes up, and we won’t be long. Here it is.”
She gestured toward a white frame house with a porch, set back among the trees. “I think it was a tree lot originally,” Amanda told her. She took a key from her pocketbook. “Here you go. I know it’s the Sabbath, but I couldn’t wait. I took the liberty of asking my yardman and his wife to arrange the furniture you brought. Go on. Open the door.”
Her fingers shaking with excitement, Della opened the door and couldn’t help her sigh of pleasure.
“I have some lace curtains that will just fit these windows,” Amanda said. “Della, what do you think?”
“Mr. Auerbach, what have you done?” Della asked out loud.
Too shy to even sit in one of the new armchairs, she perched on Owen’s more familiar handmade sofa. The sofa’s two cushions looked suddenly shabby and needed refurbishing. Sitting on the sofa gave her a glimpse into the kitchen, with cabinets that smelled newly painted.
“We had our yard man touch up a few things,” Amanda explained as she followed Della into the kitchen. “While he was at it, there was time to put down some of that new-fangled linoleum. The salesman said the tile pattern is the latest thing back east.”
“You’re determined to make me cry, aren’t you?” Della teased. She admired the oak table and four chairs in the corner. It was a snug fit, but there were only three of them, and no one was oversized.
She opened one of the cabinets, charmed to see dishes in place already. She turned to Amanda, delighted to see the normally dignified older woman looking so pleased. “I suppose you will tell me that you had a few dishes just lying about, languishing from boredom.”
“It would be the truth. The icebox is on the back porch, and we already have food cooling in it. The ward Relief Society hasn’t had so much fun in years, I think.”
Della opened the door onto the back porch, admiring the linoleum there too and the brand-new icebox. Someone had put an ice cream churn on the bottom shelf, next to two Red Wing crocks.
It was too much. She leaned her head against the doorsill, determined not to cry over an icebox and the kindness of strangers.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Amanda assured her. “If you want to cry, save it for your bedroom.”
“Which way?”
Amanda led her down a short hall and opened a door on what was Angharad’s room, with all of Owen’s homemade, carved furniture and the magnificent dollhouse. The room was even large enough for Angharad to play there without having to move the dollhouse into the front room.
“I am really hoping that husband of yours will have time before Christmas to make a dollhouse for Ray’s daughter,” Amanda said. “Uarda will be the envy of nations. All right now, close your eyes.”
Della closed her eyes. Amanda opened the door across from Angharad’s room and gave her a little push against the small of her back.
“Open them.”
Della obeyed and put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Mr. Auerbach, what have you done?” she asked again.
“I told him it wasn’t a large room, really, and needed a simple bed,” Amanda explained as she gave Della another little push. “Will this do, do you think?”
Della stared at the simplicity before her, an oak bed with a modest headboard and footboard. The grain of the wood fanned out in the perfect design of nature, requiring nothing beyond a good finish. She ran her fingers over the whorls, knowing that even a carpenter like Owen would be suitably impressed. Her good humor took over. If you even notice the wood, after I’m in this bed, she thought.
She touched the bedspread, remembering it from Domestic Wares, second floor. She had admired just this brand during a noon break last summer, wanting to take something like that with her to Winter Quarters as she finished her job and made plans to teach miners’ children in a distant canyon. The five-dollar price tag had put an end to that little dream, and this was the ten dollar spread for a double bed, the kind married people needed.
“I like that burgundy color,” Amanda said. “He absolutely insisted that you needed sheets and pillows too. Mr. Auerbach is a hard man to argue with, so I didn’t put up much of a struggle. And look how the bed matches this bureau.”
Overwhelmed, Della sat do
wn on the bed, enjoying the feel of the rug as she admired the dresser that matched the two nightstands with their lamps. She got up to open the closet door, which was already furnished with hangers and two blankets on the shelf above. Sister Knight’s Relief Society hadn’t forgotten a thing.
Unable to speak because she knew she would cry, she followed Amanda to the room at the end of the hall, which turned out to be a real lavatory, with a toilet and sink. “My goodness,” she managed, but that was all. Thick towels already hung on the racks.
“Alas, the bath is still a tin tub hanging on the porch,” Amanda said. “Maybe we can squeeze a tub in here eventually.”
“This is luxury right now,” Della assured her. “How can I ever thank you enough?”
“Just be happy here,” Amanda said simply. “That’s all Jesse and I want for you and your husband.”
Chapter 10
L
Owen and Mabli took the last train north on Wednesday evening, unwilling to chance a late arrival to Manti and his wedding to the second woman he loved. It was just a bare sixty miles to Manti through canyons west and south, but he wanted the train to go faster and faster. He wasn’t certain if he wanted out of Winter Quarters Canyon worse than he wanted to see Della and never let her go.
The trip to the turnoff at Thistle was hard enough, with widows and their children on board, all looking as blasted and numb as he felt, scattering to the four winds. He spent some time going down the aisle, making certain he had addresses where they could be reached—those he hadn’t talked to earlier in the canyon—and giving them the good news that there would be a settlement from the coal company. He knew he could give his list to Mabli for Bishop Parmley when she returned to Winter Quarters.
“I almost don’t care to return to the canyon either,” Mabli told him when he sank back into his seat.
“I know your David is buried there,” he reminded her, thinking of her sister Gwyna, but not wanting to mention Mabli’s twin sorrow.
“He is, but I must tell you, darling Owen, maybe I should move on too. I’ve been thinking about it.”
They changed trains at Thistle, and he slept all the way to Manti, leaning against Mabli. Delays kept them from arriving until two o’ clock in the morning, so they decided to remain in the depot and save a few dollars at a hotel. Bless her heart, Mabli knew unemployment weighed heavily on a Welshman’s heart, and she did not argue.
Perhaps trying to keep himself alert, the stationmaster’s assistant pressed Owen to know more about the mine disaster. Normally a polite man, Owen shook his head, hoping the assistant would understand.
The assistant nodded and wandered off. Owen watched him out of half-closed eyes, wondering if anyone could adequately explain the catastrophe to someone who knew nothing of mining and hadn’t been in the canyon.
Mabli was far too much of a lady to recline on an unoccupied bench, except she did precisely that without a qualm. Owen sat on the floor in front of her, his back to the seat, ever the gentleman, even though he knew he must look like a bum, unshaven, eyes smudged with exhaustion, jaw clenched. He hoped no one would mind if he shaved in the men’s room before heading to the temple to be married.
He woke at seven in the morning, when the train from Salt Lake arrived carrying Della, Sister Knight, and Angharad. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, wished himself clean-shaven and tidy, and grabbed both of his girls into a tight embrace.
“I know I look a sight. I’m going to find the men’s room and shave. I’ll meet you at the temple at eight.”
“I’ll wait here, husband,” Della said, and she walked to the bench where Mabli was sitting up and looking around.
Of all the things she could have said, “husband” was utter perfection. “Very well, wife,” Owen responded.
“I think you had better find the men’s room, my dear,” she reminded him when he just stood there. “I’m not in favor of kissing stubble across an altar.”
He laughed at that—who wouldn’t?—picked up his suitcase, and made a dignified retreat to the men’s room. He tidied himself, changed, and came out neater. To his further joy, Della sat by herself on the bench. The others must have gone ahead, which added to his pleasure because he didn’t feel like sharing her with anyone, not even Angharad.
She was reading a newspaper and hadn’t noticed him yet, which gave him the further luxury of admiring her handsome looks without having to say anything yet. Wife, lover, friend, and probably she who must be obeyed, on occasion. Thanks to Gwyna, he already was well-acquainted with the necessity of bending to someone’s will besides his own, especially when the alternative might be a night on the sofa, mulling over marital felonies and misdemeanors.
He was a grown man, former widower, and eager husband. Why this sudden rush of heat to his face?
“Owen, for goodness’ sake, you’re too old to blush,” Della said.
“I was just thinking that there isn’t a luckier man in all of Utah and its contiguous states, nearby territories, and ships at sea,” he told her.
She blushed then. They sat together on the bench in the depot, holding hands, seizing one small moment of calm, just the two of them.
They were sealed together in Manti Temple three hours later, kneeling across from each other with an altar between them, her hand in his. Bless Andrew Hood, Pleasant Valley Ward’s Sunday School superintendent, for arriving from Scofield in time to serve as one of the witnesses. In the quiet room, Owen looked down at Della’s hand in his and felt the benign presence of friends gone now, friends with whom he had crossed the Atlantic and mined in Utah, friends who bore his sorrows, and he theirs, and also their joys. It was life complete, taking everything into account.
Della touched his face, and he looked in her dark eyes. She nodded slightly, and he knew she felt the same emotion.
After a multiplicity of blessings, each one grander than the last, they stood together, man and wife earlier in the week, but now united for eternity. God seemed to work His wonders in strange ways, but that was certainly His privilege, Owen decided.
“Today is May 10,” Brother Hood told him as they changed back into their street clothing later. “Never forget it, lad, or you’ll be in the blackest of black books with the missus. They never forget, so you daren’t.”
“I know good advice when I hear it, Andrew,” he replied. “Thank you from the depths of my heart for coming.”
“I couldn’t have been anywhere else today,” the Number One foreman said.
“Is it back to Scofield for you?”
“Aye. We’ll be reopening the Number One next week.”
“And the Four?” Owen asked, both wanting and not wanting to know.
“Bishop says by the end of May. There’s plenty of work for you.”
Work I’m good at, Owen thought, even as he shook his head. “I promised Della I would not.”
Andrew held out his hand. “That may be, but don’t forget us. Come and visit.”
“I will. We will.”
Nothing remained now except to hug Angharad outside of the temple and thank her for being a good guest at Mrs. Knight’s aunt’s house during the wedding. All that remained was to buy tickets for the trip to Provo and resume worrying about how to feed his family in a new town where he had no prospects.
Mrs. Knight had other ideas. “Not yet, Owen,” she said as they started toward the depot. “Before he left for Canada, my husband wanted you to have this.”
She handed him an envelope. Owen glanced at Della, but she appeared as mystified as he was.
“Open it, Da,” Angharad said.
He did, and he drew out a receipt for two nights at the Manti House. “I can’t deny I am pleased, Sister Knight,” he said. “Thank you and Uncle Jesse.”
“Angharad has agreed to stay with me,” Mrs. Knight said, her arm around his daughter. “And here is a piece of good fortune. I have convinced Mabli to stay with me for the rest of the week and cook. Mrs. McNulty is visiting her ailing sister, and I am all th
umbs in the kitchen. There. I admit it.”
“Well, then, Mrs. Davis, it appears we are spending two nights in Manti,” Owen said, which earned him a round of applause from their little wedding party on the steps outside the temple and kind glances from other people going inside. “Mrs. Davis, what do you say?”
Della knew who needed her attention. She knelt by Angharad, who couldn’t help her worried look, and said, “I’ll take good care of Da and bring him back safely to Provo.” She hugged the child. “I know you don’t want him out of your sight, but he will be in my sight. No fears?”
Angharad nodded. “No fears. Da?”
He held out his forefinger and touched her finger. “No fears.”
They walked their friends to the train station and then went to the Manti House. Once inside, Della handed over Sister Knight’s receipt and had a word with the front desk clerk, who gave her a room key.
“Upstairs and to the left,” the man said. “We serve dinner at six, and there is also room service.”
Owen didn’t remember much else. Della helped him off with his clothes while he protested, his eyes closed. There was a soft pillow, and a few minutes later, a warm wife tucked close. He wanted to say something about promising to be more amorous after he had some sleep, but nothing came out of his mouth.
“I’ll keep,” was the last thing he heard. How kind she was.
He slept twelve hours straight, waking up shortly after midnight. Warm, comfortable, peaceful, he lay there in the cocoon of a sleeping world. He shifted in bed, careful not to wake his wife, because he wanted to look at her.
She hadn’t bothered to close the drapes, and the full moon spilled its light across the bedspread. She lay on her side, facing him and the moonlight, her black curls wild around her head, which made him wonder all over again how she managed to tame that mop.
Fascinated with her, he ran his finger above her elegant nose—no better word for it—to outline it. He didn’t want to wake her, even though he needed her more with each passing minute, now that he wasn’t blasted with exhaustion.
