"Good morning to you, Miss Dale. My missus sent you these loaves and some of her cinnamon applesauce." He retrieved a box from the back of the wagon. "She had to stay home this morning. Little Martha’s got the croup."
"I’m sorry to hear it, Mr. Snow," Amanda said. "Do thank her for me, won’t you? It’s so kind of her."
"We brought firewood too, Miss Dale," Jerry said. "See?" He indicated the pile in the back of the wagon.
"We’ll unload it on our way back from church, when we bring Rex home," Tom Snow promised.
"Thank you. I appreciate it." Amanda was touched by their generosity. Ella and her late husband had such fine neighbors. She wondered if Ella had any idea how warm-hearted the people of Aztec had been following Randall’s death. Would she care? Amanda couldn’t imagine how they would ever repay everyone for such kindness.
"Put the box on the kitchen table, if you would," she instructed. She gave Rex a quick glance, taking in his slicked down hair and freshly scrubbed face. With a tug here and there, she adjusted his flannel jacket and the collar of his blue broadcloth shirt. "You’ll do," she said, with a slight smile.
"Hey, look at her!" Jerry exclaimed, staring down at Minnie. He hovered over the chair Amanda had placed in front of the open oven door. On the chair was the roasting pan with the sleeping baby snuggled inside. "She’s growing, by golly."
"You think so?" Rex asked. Amanda noted the tension in his tone.
"Sure," Jerry insisted. He touched one of the baby’s tiny fists with the tip of his finger. "Don’t you think she looks bigger than the last time we saw her, Dad?"
His father peered at Minnie and nodded. "You know, I think she does. She’s still as tiny as a button," he admitted, "but looks to me like she’s putting on weight. You’ll have to be moving her to the cradle soon, Miss Dale."
Amanda felt a surge of hope. "I’ll do that, Mr. Snow." The cradle, piled with small blankets and baby clothes, sat in a corner of Ella’s room. It hadn’t been used since Rex was a baby, she guessed.
After Rex left with the Snows, she bustled about getting milk ready for Minnie’s second feeding of the morning and boiling another pot of coffee for herself. Bonita sprawled underneath the kitchen table. Glancing down at her, Amanda fretted for a moment about Beulah Johnson’s comment about seeing the shaggy, red dog before — somewhere else. She said a silent prayer the woman had been mistaken. After cutting a slice of Mrs. Snow’s fresh bread, she smeared it with honey. Amanda took a bite. It tasted delicious. She decided she would take a piece to Ella, after feeding and changing the baby and placing her back in the pan in front of the warm oven.
"C’mon, Ella. Taste this." Sitting on the edge of her sister’s bed, she pressed the slice of bread to Ella’s dry lips.
Ella stared at her with vacant eyes, and slowly turned her head away.
Amanda sighed. "I’m not leaving until you do. You’ve got to eat. You must get your strength back."
When her sister didn’t respond, Amanda put the bread plate on the nightstand by the bed. She pulled back the curtains and let the warm September sunshine flood the room. Ella blinked and pressed her face deeper into the pillow. Amanda tidied up and washed Ella’s face and hands with a warm cloth, then she brushed and braided her sister’s long, strawberry blonde hair, all the while chatting to her about yesterday’s picnic at the old Indian ruins. She finally coaxed Ella into taking a bite of bread and honey and brought her a cup of coffee with lots of milk and sugar added. She was delighted when Ella took not one but two uncertain sips.
"I have an idea," Amanda announced. "I’m going to read to you from the Bible. Would you like that?"
Not truly expecting any kind of response, Amanda retrieved the large Stewart family Bible from the sitting room where it rested on a round ivory-topped piecrust table. She had first noticed it weeks ago when she had arrived to take charge of her sister’s household, following Randall’s death. But this morning, she was surprised to find it open to the page where births, deaths, and marriages had been recorded. She noted the words Baby Girl Minnie had been entered, along with the infant’s date of birth. She recognized Rex’s boyish scrawl and felt a tug at her heart. She carried the large Bible into Ella’s room.
"Ella, look at this. Rex has entered Minnie’s birthday in your family Bible." She held the Bible up for her sister to see. Ella didn’t turn her head, but Amanda thought she noticed her sister’s eyes swivel slightly in the direction of the open page.
"Do you realize you haven’t even named your daughter yet? She’ll be two months old soon and doesn’t have a real name. Rex dubbed her Minnie because she’s so small, and we’ve been calling her Minnie ever since. But you need to give her a proper name. What about Sarah, after Mother? Or maybe Thelma after Grandma Dale? Of course, I don’t think the little dear looks like a Thelma at all. Maybe you should name her after Randall’s mother? What was her name?"
Unable to prompt a response, Amanda felt disheartened. She felt a surge of irritation too. Closing the Bible and placing it at the foot of the bed, she went to the kitchen and picked up the pan with Minnie tucked snuggly inside. The infant was just waking from her morning nap. Her blue eyes opened wide, and her little face became alert. The change reminded Amanda of the blooming of a perfect bud. When the baby crammed her tiny fist into her little rosebud mouth, Amanda’s heart felt like it would burst with love for the tiny girl.
"You little darling," she crooned. Maybe Mr. Snow was right after all. It was time to move Minnie to the cradle. She might try feeding her with a baby bottle too. There were two in the kitchen cupboard — small glass ones with black, rubber nipples. Doctor Morgan had brought them by on one of his many visits. She carried the baby into Ella’s room. Bonita followed closely at her heels.
"Look, Ella. You have a visitor. Isn’t she a dolly?" Amanda lifted the baby and placed her gently on a pillow, which she held out for Ella’s perusal. Again, Ella refused to respond. Amanda moved the pillow and the baby directly into Ella’s line of vision. She noted the flutter of her sister’s eyelids. Was she actually looking at the infant? Amanda couldn’t tell.
"Mr. Snow stopped by earlier this morning to pick up Rex for Sunday school. He noticed right away how much she’s been growing. He even suggested I move her into the cradle now. I think I should, don’t you? It will give Minnie a little more room to move her arms and legs."
Ella made no response. Something about her sister’s indifference suddenly outraged Amanda. "She’s not going to die, Ella. She’s a fighter, which is more than I can say for you!" she exclaimed. She gathered the baby on the pillow close to her chest, as though protecting the child from a dangerous chill.
Staring down at her sister, Amanda said, "I thought you had more spunk, Ella. Truly, I did. I know you’ve lost your husband, and I’m sorry. Randall’s death was a tragedy and no mistake. Your baby girl was born early, and you weren’t counting on it so soon after your husband’s death. But you’re only thinking about your own grief. What about Rex? He’s been a real little man since all this has happened, I can tell you. You’d be so proud of him, if you knew. And you’ve got this precious little girl — she needs her mother. Do you realize I’ve been feeding her with a medicine dropper? If Mother were still alive, she’d be so disappointed in you, Ella."
When this parting shot provoked no satisfactory reaction, Amanda whisked Minnie away and returned her to the roasting pan. She covered the baby with the blue flannel blanket and tucked her in. It was important to keep the baby as warm as possible. Doc Morgan had emphasized this more than once. Placing the pan back on the chair in front of the oven, Amanda gave the ever-watchful shaggy, red dog a brief pat on the head.
After stoking the stove with more wood, Amanda poured herself another cup of coffee. Deep down, she felt truly sorry for Ella. But she also felt a simmering resentment. Ella had once had a husband who’d loved her dearly. Together, they’d had two fine children and made a home outside the village. Amanda had not had the same privilege. She’d b
een too busy caring for their dying parents. Just when she thought she might begin to have a life of her own, she’d been called in to tend her widowed and ailing sister. It wasn’t fair! Why, in a few short years, she’d be thirty. A spinster. An old maid.
Discouraged, Amanda went back to Ella’s room to retrieve the heavy Bible. She didn’t feel much like reading anything now, so she returned it to the ivory-topped table in the sitting room. On a whim, she opened its pages at random. Her eyes fell upon a verse in Romans: "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose."
After reading the verse again, Amanda blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Hope that the words were true filled her heart. She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand. Turning to go back to the kitchen, she noticed the little wooden desk in the corner of the room near the window. It had two shallow drawers on either side and one in the middle. An old baking powder tin held pencils and a rubber eraser. The letter from the bank she’d opened some weeks earlier but only glanced at lay on the top of a stack of hand-written receipts in Randall’s looped scrawl. There was a green ledger book too.
Amanda knew she needed to sit down and sort through Randall Stewart’s business matters in the morning. For one thing, she needed to find out just how many eggs the hens should be producing and what the problem was with the bank. She was more than a little concerned about Beulah Johnson’s offer to buy the property. Did the cantankerous old widow know something about the Stewart family’s financial situation Amanda needed to know? She didn’t want to pry, but it was time somebody looked into these matters. Ella wasn’t going to do it any time soon, and Rex was too young for such responsibility.
Retrieving her coffee cup from the kitchen, Amanda carried it with her to the porch and sat down in the caned-back rocker to enjoy a moment’s peace and quiet. She could hear the cheerful twittering of house finches and the noisy clucking chorus of a multitude of hens. A curious towhee bobbed along the wire fence surrounding the chicken house. The sun was warm and the sky so blue it made her ache for something she couldn’t put into words. How she longed to go for a brisk walk — maybe down to the river — but that was not possible.
Closing her eyes and leaning back in the rocker, Amanda tried to relax. She imagined she heard singing. A man’s voice — a bold tenor — singing Leaning on the Everlasting Arms. Her eyes popped open. Snapping her head to one side, she noticed a man in a slouch hat approaching from over the hill. The singer carried a catch of fish in one hand and a book in the other. He strode purposefully toward her. Even though he wore his hat pulled down over his face, she recognized him immediately.
Amanda gave a nervous start and fumbled with her empty cup and saucer. She rose quickly from her chair and hurried inside. Smoothing her hair and pinching her cheeks, she breathed a ragged sigh; thankful she’d decided to wear her flowered gingham today. Bonita, her tail wagging, was already standing by the door anticipating the guest’s arrival. Checking the coffee pot, Amanda took a deep breath, and stepped back outside to greet him.
****
Gil Gladney couldn’t say what had compelled him to make his way to the Stewart place. Distracted by hopeful thoughts of Nate Phillips coming to excavate the old ruins and more troubled ones concerning Oz Lancaster and his irresponsible son, Gil had decided not to go to church services. Instead, he went fishing. He enjoyed fishing. It was restful. He could think without the usual distractions. When he caught several brown trout—each weighing about two pounds—he felt quite pleased with himself.
Once the idea of taking the fish to Amanda Dale popped into his head, he couldn’t dispel it. He didn’t want to. Gil tried to convince himself it was merely a gesture of Christian charity, but deep down, knew it was more than a kindly gesture. More than anything, he wanted to see Amanda again. Yesterday, he’d felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why the woman wasn’t already married. She was beautiful and personable. Maybe Amanda had been married and was now a widow like her sister. He dismissed the idea quickly when he recalled Rex first introducing his aunt as Miss Dale.
She’d come up from Las Cruces following Randall Stewart’s fatal accident. Gil didn’t know much else about her. Maybe she had a beau in Las Cruces — some worthy man waiting with anxious anticipation for her return. This prospect was too dismal to think about for long. He wanted to learn more about Amanda Dale — a lot more. Yesterday, he’d enjoyed listening to her laugh and had admired the way her dark brown eyes sparkled when the students got carried away by tales of long-lost Spanish gold.
Energized by a surge of hopeful expectancy, Gil walked the mile back to the schoolhouse, dropped off his fishing pole and retrieved the copy of Ben-Hur. The day was sunny and brisk. He sang a few hymns and folk songs as he walked, his long-legged strides carrying him quickly from the village to the Stewart place. When he caught sight of Amanda on the front porch, she appeared to be napping in the rocking chair. She probably didn’t get many peaceful moments to call her own — not with an invalid sister and a newborn baby to look after.
When she startled awake, Gil felt a stab of regret for having disturbed her solitude. He ceased singing. As he watched Amanda dash into the house, he wondered if the baby had begun crying or if Mrs. Stewart had called out to her? Already feeling like a nuisance, Gil promised himself he would not stay long. After presenting her with the trout and the book, he would be on his way.
"Mr. Gladney, good morning," Amanda greeted him, as she returned to the porch.
Gil noticed she’d removed her apron. She looked particularly pretty in her red-flowered gingham. Her dark eyes glowed as her full lips curved in a welcoming smile. Yesterday, he’d paid her a light-hearted compliment. But this morning, feeling unexplainably shy, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He got right to the point. "I brought you some brown trout and the book I mentioned yesterday."
"Rex will be happy to have fried fish for Sunday dinner. You must stay too," she urged.
Gil was about to protest when she insisted. "He’ll be so disappointed if you don’t." Something in her glowing eyes conveyed a silent message. She wanted him to stay too. He allowed himself to be persuaded. She’d taken the book from him and clutched it to her chest as though it was something precious to be securely held on to.
"Let me clean and gut these for you before I come in," Gil offered. Smiling, Amanda nodded and went back inside. She returned with a knife and a platter from the kitchen. Then she told him where to go and asked him to dump the skin and bones on the compost heap near the vegetable garden. The red dog, with broken tail and patchy fur, followed him around to the back and watched him with friendly brown eyes.
"Bonita? Is that your name?" The dog wagged her tail with more enthusiasm. Gil chuckled as he cleaned the fish. Only a boy desperately wanting a dog of his own could have come up with such an unsuitable name for this ragamuffin creature. After washing his hands at the outdoor pump, Gil carried the platter of trout into the kitchen. His eyes were immediately drawn toward the baby sleeping peacefully in the roasting pan near the oven door. She was covered with a pale blue blanket.
"Look at this little cherub," he murmured softly. Bending over, his hands resting on his bent knees, Gil peered down at Minnie. "She’s grown, Miss Dale, since the last time I saw her. Indeed she has."
"Mr. Snow and Jerry think so too." Her voice sounded husky with emotion.
"I’m sure of it. Her color’s good too." Reaching out, he took the baby’s small hand in his own. It was so tiny compared to his, but perfectly formed. "She’s one of God’s miracles," he said with certainty. "Has her mother given her a name yet?"
"We’re still calling her Minnie for now."
Gil stroked the baby’s silky cheek with one finger. "It seems to suit her."
Amanda nodded. Glancing up, he noticed her tender expression. Again, he wondered why such a woman didn’t have a husband and child
ren of her own. She would be an excellent mother; he felt sure of it. Doctor Morgan sang her praises. Most of the concerned community members realized Amanda Dale’s loving kindness had kept the premature infant alive this long. Should the child thrive and Ella Stewart recover her health, it would be due in no small part to Amanda’s tireless efforts, as well as God’s mercy.
Rising to his full height, Gil cleared his throat. "One day your sister will be thankful for all you’ve done for Minnie. I’m glad Mrs. Stewart has you to help her during this difficult time. Rex couldn’t have managed on his own."
Amanda blushed and focused her attention upon the stove. "How about a cup of coffee?" She poured him one before he could decline. When she brought it to him, their hands nearly touched. Her proximity made his pulse race. He took a sip. The coffee was hot and strong, just the way he liked it. When she sat down at the kitchen table, he did the same.
"Did you send the telegram to your friend, Mr. Phillips, back in Indiana?" she asked.
Gil nodded. "Made it to the telegraph office just in the knick of time. Old Hiram Lister was none too pleased. He was getting ready to close up for the day."
"Do you think he will come to see the ruins?"
"If he’s in the States, I’m sure he’ll come right away. If he’s in a foreign country somewhere, like Egypt or one of the Greek islands, he won’t be able to get away so easily." He shook his head at her offer to refill his cup. "Still, he may make the journey anyway. Archeology is such a new scholastic pursuit, compared to botany or medicine, for instance. Every man hopes to make a unique discovery of his own. Our ancient Indian settlement could make Nate famous."
Amanda laughed and shrugged a shoulder. "Funny to think of those old crumbled down walls and the pottery jars and baskets buried inside making anyone famous." After a brief pause, she asked, "Do you want to be famous too some day?"
Amanda's Beau Page 5
