Nugget lay sprawled across Annabelle’s bed, her feet tangled in the quilt Annabelle’s mother had made. Rosy cheeks had replaced the grubby face, and in the dim candlelight, Nugget looked almost like a porcelain doll. Hard to believe the tiny girl was six years old. Just two years younger than Susannah had been when she died. Such innocence almost made Annabelle want to believe she was making a difference helping with her father’s work.
Annabelle pulled out the linens and made up Susannah’s bed, trying not to remember the way her sister had traced the pattern of the quilt at night to fall asleep. She forced herself to push aside the memory of Susannah’s sweet voice asking Annabelle to tell her one last story. She wasn’t ready to confront the loss of her sister.
Every day. Every day her father asked her to do one more hard thing for the sake of his ministry. And every day, she had to shove one more piece of her hurting heart into the abyss.
But as she lifted the sleeping girl off her bed and into the newly made bed, she told herself that maybe somehow it would be worth it. And maybe someday, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Though she suspected it wouldn’t happen until she could finally leave this place and all its painful memories.
Maybe now that her father had some time to grieve, he wouldn’t mind so much letting her go to Aunt Celeste. Maybe there, she could build a life for herself. A life that didn’t include putting her heart out to be broken on a daily basis.
“I was going to have her stay in my room.” The miner’s voice came from her doorway.
Annabelle jumped at the interruption, then took a breath as she smoothed the covers around Nugget. “I’ve already gotten her settled. Besides, it’s not seemly for her to share your room.”
“She’s my sister. We can share.” He stepped into the room as if he was going to snatch Nugget away.
Annabelle stood. Sister? She hadn’t expected that. What sort of man took on the care of a sister when he barely seemed capable of taking care of himself? Yet again, she realized that this man was different. And she didn’t like it.
Ignoring the desire to know more about his situation, she looked at him with the same detachment she gave everyone else. “You’re a grown man. You deserve your privacy. Besides, just look at her.”
As if to prove her point, Nugget snuggled deeper into the covers, giving a small sigh.
“I haven’t ever seen her look so…”
Clean? Content? This man didn’t seem to know anything about raising a child. But for the first time, she could understand his protectiveness. And she had to give him credit for trying.
Annabelle sighed. There was no escaping the compassion leaking into her heart.
“Nugget’s so peaceful, isn’t she? It’d be a shame to disturb her.” Annabelle gave the miner a smile. “Why don’t I show you to your room? It was my brother Peter’s.”
She swallowed the inevitable lump at the mention of his name. This stranger wouldn’t understand how much she’d lost. Hopefully, they wouldn’t stay long. She refused to get attached to one more person who was just going to leave anyway.
“I’m not putting him out, am I?” The gruff tone to his voice made Annabelle pause. He seemed uncomfortable with the hospitality. Unlike so many of the people she encountered, this miner wasn’t a taker. Her conscience told her she shouldn’t judge, but her heart reminded her that it could no longer afford to be open.
“Peter died seven months ago.” As many times as she stated that fact, it didn’t get any easier to accept.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Words she heard often enough, but the sadness in his voice made Annabelle’s heart constrict. He’d lost someone recently, too.
“It gets easier every day.” A lie, but since that’s what everyone told her, she supposed it must be true for some people. It was the answer she’d learned to give to quiet the well-intentioned words of sympathy that never seemed to do any good.
The miner stepped into her space as she pushed the door open. “Does it?”
His dark eyes searched hers, making her feel exposed, vulnerable. People weren’t supposed to ask those questions. They were supposed to move on and leave her to dwell in her private pain.
She turned her head away. “Of course it does.”
Doing what she did best, Annabelle pressed on, ignoring the tickle at the back of her throat as she surveyed the room she’d barely dared enter since Peter’s death. She’d liked to have said it looked exactly the same, but it didn’t. The lamp that had sat on the table beside his bed was gone. Her father had given it to a needy parishioner. The same with the blanket that had always lay across the foot of the bed. Her grandmother had made it, but that hadn’t stopped her father from giving it to someone in the mining camp. And if she looked in Peter’s closet, it would be empty.
Yes, it was selfish to cling to them; after all, they were only things. If her father knew these thoughts, he would tell her about storing up her treasures in heaven instead of on earth, and that these things would be far more useful to the people here than they were to Peter’s memory.
Those emotions, like everything else, were quickly pushed away. Her father expected her to be a part of his ministry, and that meant making this man feel comfortable in their home.
“Maddie filled the pitcher with some clean water for your use.” Annabelle gestured to the dresser. “If there’s any other need I can attend to, please let me know.”
She turned to leave, but he stopped her. “Wait.”
“Is there something else you need?”
His features were cast in shadows, but she could still see the hard catch in his jaw. “I’m sorry if my question offended you. I didn’t mean to put you out.”
He might as well have taken that pitcher and dumped it on her. Annabelle glanced at the open door. Her father would be up soon, and he would know that she hadn’t been very welcoming. She sighed. She was trying, she really was. But her father was so focused on providing for the miners’ needs that he never seemed to consider hers.
More selfishness. And none of it helped the man in front of her. The man who looked like he was staring down into the depths of her soul. A place no one, not even God, was allowed to look.
“I’m sorry.” Annabelle looked at the floor. Swept clean, of course. If only Maddie had left one stray dust bunny that could swallow her whole.
Annabelle took a deep breath. She’d hurt this man’s feelings, and she hadn’t meant to. But with all the miners, she had to keep her heart locked up. She’d let one slip past her guard. One to whom she’d given her heart. And he’d deemed his search for riches more valuable than their love.
The miner standing in front of her? Now that he’d had a bath, she could tell that his hair truly was the color of soot, and it curled around the top of this collar ever so slightly. His eyes, too, were dark, and the light caught them just enough that she knew he meant business. This wasn’t some miner. Not anymore.
Bad enough that he had to sleep in Peter’s room, worse that by closing herself off to him, she now had to admit the truth.
“I lied. I don’t know if missing someone gets easier. I wake up every day wishing I could hear my brothers or my sister, and especially my mother, walking through the door. But they don’t. And I guess having you here makes it more real that they never will.”
Everyone expressed sympathy over her losses. But what she saw shining in Joseph’s eyes was deeper, more personal. She couldn’t afford to get personal, not again. They were both supposed to say the proper things, like that Annabelle was getting over the loss of her mother and brothers and sister, and that Joseph was sorry to hear about it, and every other pithy comment that everyone said because it was what you were supposed to say.
Because she’d already said all of those deeply personal things to another man, another miner, and despite her offering up everything her heart had, he’d left, chasing after rumors of gold in the Yukon.
Getting personal was no longer an option.
“Annabelle?” Her father’s
voice boomed through the room as he pushed open the door. “You’ve made sure Joseph is comfortable?”
Annabelle let out a long sigh, exhaling all of the thoughts she shouldn’t have been thinking. “Of course I have.” She turned to the miner. “You have everything you need, don’t you?”
He glanced at her, the sympathy still shining in his eyes. “Yes.” He turned to her father. “Your daughter is most gracious.”
At least he brought it back to what people were supposed to say.
Her father came into the room and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
She smiled up at him, trying not to let the guilt over all of her wrong thoughts drag her down. As much as she hated this position, her father was all she had left of her immediate family.
“I think that’s all then.” She leaned up on tiptoes and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Good night.” Then turned and gave the miner as much of a smile as she could muster. “And good night to you, too, Joseph.”
Before either man could say anything else, she turned and left the room, retreating to the once-safe haven of her bedroom. There, Nugget slept, her tiny body reminding her that even the slightest bit of sweetness still had a bitter taste. Because as much as she wanted to take this little girl into her arms and give her the love she deserved, Annabelle absolutely was not going to get attached. Not when, like every other child she encountered in her work, Nugget would soon be gone.
Because that was the reality of life in a mining town. People either went broke and left, struck it rich and left, left in search of a better prospect, or left the earth completely. Regardless of the reason, they all left.
There wasn’t enough of Annabelle’s heart remaining to let anyone take any more.
*
Joseph watched Annabelle’s retreating figure, her skirts swishing behind her. She moved with the grace of any of the fine ladies he’d encountered, but there was a humility to her that he’d never known.
Back in Ohio, he’d encountered plenty of girls who turned up their noses at the Stones’ poverty. Only Margaret had openly accepted him and promised to love him no matter what. She’d been filled with grand dreams of the farm they’d build together and how everything would work out. But when his ma died and he’d made it clear that his siblings were part of the package, Margaret had a change of heart and married another.
He once thought Margaret was made of the cloth he believed he saw in Annabelle, but appearances were deceiving. As much as he’d like to admire Annabelle, he had to remind himself that he had too many other responsibilities to put any energy in that direction.
He forced his attention to Frank. “Thank you again for your hospitality. Your daughter went above and beyond in preparing rooms for us.”
Frank gave that wistful look Joseph was beginning to see as the Annabelle look. “It’ll be good for her to have another little girl in the house. She used to share her room with her sister Susannah. She likes to pretend that she’s fine, but don’t let her fool you. Annabelle misses her terribly.”
Joseph’s gut churned. He’d liked to have credited it to a filling supper after going so long without, but he knew better. Not after her hard-won admission of grief. He’d thought about offering her comfort for her loss, but at Frank’s expression, Joseph was glad they’d been interrupted. His thoughts and questions were better left for the man of the house, not a woman he found himself inappropriately attracted to.
“She mentioned this room belonged to her departed brother. I didn’t realize that she’d lost another sibling, as well.”
Sorrow filled Frank’s eyes as he looked around the room. “Yes. This was Peter’s room. Sickness hit Leadville hard this past winter. We lost my wife and four of my children. Annabelle is all I have left.”
Maddie’s biscuits thudded in the pit of Joseph’s stomach. Having spent the better part of a month trying to track down his father to save his own siblings, he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to watch them all die.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Joseph spoke softly, realizing that the other man had retreated into his own grief. “It’s good of you to let us use their rooms.”
Frank’s head snapped up. “What else would we do with them? The good Lord provided, and it seems wrong to not share what He has given us. Just…” He looked around the room, then his gaze settled back on Joseph.
“Go easy on Annabelle. She gets awful mad when I give away any of the family’s possessions, and even though she’s playing the part of the gracious hostess, I know she’s upset.”
He gave another wry smile, and Joseph realized that Frank was trying as hard as Annabelle seemed to be in dealing with his heavy losses.
“Then why do this? If it pains her, then perhaps I—”
“I can’t allow her to wallow in her grief. Her mother, brothers and sister are with the Lord. There’s no reason to be sorrowful.”
Except the preacher’s face spoke of his own great sorrow. “Having you and Nugget here will be good for her. Already I see a light in her eyes I haven’t seen since…”
His shoulders rose and fell. “I know you feel guilty at accepting my charity, but you’re doing me the favor. It was good to hear laughter in this house again.”
Frank turned to leave, but his final words burned through Joseph’s heart.
A house without laughter. Without noise. Even Joseph would admit that this month without the cacophony of his siblings’ voices had made for some lonely nights. He’d gotten through by telling himself it was temporary. But for Annabelle and her father, the silence was permanent.
Lord, forgive me for judging.
The biscuits collided angrily against each other, reminding him that he had a lot to beg the Lord’s forgiveness for. He’d been angry and resentful over his situation, but as he looked at what the Lassiters were going through, he realized that he had no call to complain.
“Sir?”
Frank turned. “I told you to call me Frank.”
Joseph nodded slowly. “Yes. Frank. I…I was wondering if you had a spare Bible in the house.”
Silence echoed briefly against the walls. Joseph’s heart thudded. It shouldn’t have been that difficult a question to ask a preacher.
“Annabelle still hasn’t forgiven me for giving away Peter’s. Barely nineteen years old, and my boy had his heart set on becoming a preacher. He would have wanted me to share God’s word, but Annabelle…she was furious.”
The older man’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have burdened you. I…”
“Forget it.” He’d already made Annabelle uncomfortable enough. “I’m sure I can find one in town tomorrow. It’s just I— Well, you reminded me of how much I’ve lost track of my faith.”
Some of the tiredness left Frank’s face. “I’m glad. As for the Bible, I’ll let you read my own tonight. When a man’s got a yearning for God’s word, it’s best to fill it immediately so nothing else sneaks in.”
He was about to tell Frank it wasn’t necessary, but Frank had already left the room. It humbled Joseph to see how freely the man shared all that he had. A lesson Aunt Ina would benefit to learn. Her last letter had complained of all the money she’d spent on his siblings and that she fully expected to be repaid for her sacrifice.
If he’d tried to pay Frank back, the man would be insulted. Joseph looked around the room that had once been occupied by a beloved son and brother. No wonder Annabelle had seemed so tense earlier. He sat on the bed and ran his hands along the fine quilt covering the bed.
Joseph didn’t know much about women’s handiwork, and had taken the blankets and quilts in their home for granted. But to Annabelle, who’d been upset over a Bible, this was probably yet another memory of her brother.
“That was the first quilt my wife ever made.” Frank’s voice came from the doorway. “Her family was horrified that she was wasting her womanly talents on making quilts instead of embroidering fancy linens. It has some mi
stakes, but that’s why I love it. She wasn’t afraid of the mistakes that come with learning.”
Frank had crossed over while speaking, then handed him a well-worn Bible. “I hope it gives you the same peace tonight.”
The lump that Joseph had been successfully swallowing all evening wouldn’t go away this time. Everything had meaning to the Lassiters, yet they were both able to share. Frank more willingly than Annabelle, but even her, he couldn’t fault for being stingy.
“Thank you, Frank. Your generosity means the world to me.”
Frank gave a small nod. “I hope someday you pass on that generosity to someone else.”
The floorboards creaked as Frank once again retreated, leaving Joseph in the cozy room bathed with soft candlelight. He glanced at the Bible, which smelled of the hope and promise of things yet to come. So far, he hadn’t found any of the answers he’d been seeking in Leadville. But Frank Lassiter had given him the hope that he’d finally come to a place where he could.
Chapter Four
Annabelle walked into Jessup’s Mercantile, Nugget’s hand clutched tightly in hers.
“I ain’t allowed in here,” Nugget whispered.
“You’re with me, so it’ll be fine. Be a good girl, and I’ll let you choose a peppermint when we’re done.”
She gave the little girl an encouraging squeeze and a smile.
“I don’t like peppermints. The men who visited Mama always gave ’em to me, and then I’d have to go away.”
After a day with Nugget, none of her experiences should shock Annabelle. But each one put an anger in her heart that wasn’t going to be easily erased. How many other children endured what poor Nugget had? Despite her anger, Annabelle felt powerless to do anything.
“I’m not going to make you go away.” She gave Nugget another squeeze. “But I will let you pick out whatever treat you’d like.”
Nugget’s grip loosened in her hand.
Love Inspired Historical November 2014 Page 74
