"No," he replied with prompt certitude. "I want to be happy and content."
A flash of understanding passed between them. Gil seized his opportunity to learn more about this intriguing woman who made his pulse quicken. "Miss Dale, you were living in Las Cruces, I believe, before coming here to help out," he prompted.
"I lived at home with our father. He was a blacksmith, but he’d become quite ill more than a year ago. He died just a few weeks before Randall had his accident."
"I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d lost your father so recently. Is your mother still living?"
"No," Amanda told him. "She too was an invalid for many years. Mother suffered with pain in her back and legs. In the last months of her life, she couldn’t walk at all. I’ve been taking care of one parent or another since I was quite young."
Her tone was matter-of-fact, her face a portrait of tremulous courage. After a moment’s silence, he said, "I find your selflessness to be quite admirable, Miss Dale."
Seeming reluctant to accept the compliment, she confessed, "No, I’m not admirable. I’m often impatient and short-tempered."
Gil admired her all the more for her honesty. "I’m sure you’re looking forward to the day when you can return to your home in Las Cruces. Your friends there must surely miss you and perhaps… maybe there’s even an impatient beau waiting for your return," he hinted.
She blushed prettily, staring him straight in the eye. "There is no beau, Mr. Gladney."
His heart soared. How glad I am to hear it! But all he said to her was, "Frankly, I’m surprised. Of course, I don’t mean to pry."
Amanda’s cheeks burned even brighter. Gil struggled to come up with some witty pleasantry to say to put her at her ease. Instead, he found himself tongue-tied and silently berated himself for being such a numbskull. His friend Nate Phillips was never at a loss for words around a beautiful woman, as he recalled. He decided to pursue a safer course.
"How is Mrs. Stewart today? Any improvement? If you’d like, I could carry her to the rocker on the porch. A bit of fresh air and sunshine might be just the thing for her."
Sitting up a little straighter in her chair, Amanda gave him a sad smile. "Thank you, but not today." Then her face brightened, as though she’d had second thoughts. "Would you mind talking to her about Rex? Tell her what a bright boy he is, and how well he’s doing in school. Would you do that? You’re his teacher, and she knows how much Rex admires you. Ella knows he has ambitions of being a teacher himself some day. Perhaps she might…" Amanda paused, leaving her speculation unfinished.
"I’m happy to help in any way I can," he assured her.
She rose from her chair. Gil did the same. With a quick nod, she indicated he should follow her to her sister’s room. He remembered meeting Ella Stewart several times before in the past year he’d been teaching in the village. He’d considered her an attractive young woman, short and fair, and full of life. Rex favored her in looks and vitality.
But this bed-ridden woman, deathly pale and thin, was a mere shadow of the Ella Stewart he’d met before. Her brown eyes were blank. The dark smudges under her eyes looked like bruises. The woman’s golden-red hair appeared dry and brittle. Her frailty was in stark contrast to Amanda’s dark good looks and rosy health.
Amanda pulled up a chair beside the bed. "Sit here, Mr. Gladney." She touched her sister on the shoulder and said, "Ella, Rex’s teacher has come to see you. I’m sure you remember Mr. Gladney. He wants to tell you how well Rex is doing with his studies."
Giving him a nod, Amanda encouraged Gil to speak. An expression of hope flitted across her lovely face. Inwardly, Gil shuddered. He was more than willing to boast of Rex’s accomplishments in the classroom. The boy was an apt pupil. But as he looked at Ella Stewart’s shrunken form lying in the bed, his heart felt chilled. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast odd shadows, like dark, clawing fingers inching their way across the quilt toward the sick woman’s face. A nagging fear seized him. He doubted anything he had to say about young Rex Stewart’s academic performance could save his mother from her decline. Ella Stewart was going to die.
Chapter Four
"Rex, where is the secret money jar?" Amanda asked later in the evening. She sat in the rocker mending a shirt near the hearth in the sitting room. Her nephew sprawled on the braided rag rug in front of the fire, reading a geography book he’d borrowed from the school. Bonita stretched out next to him.
Gil had stayed long enough to help Mr. Snow unload the promised firewood and allowed Rex to coax him to stay a bit longer to share their fried trout dinner. With Mrs. Snow’s spicy applesauce and fresh bread, sliced yellow squash cooked in bacon grease, and the last of the season’s cucumbers and tomatoes, it had been a tasty meal. Gil’s good-natured company had made it seem festive.
"How’d you know about the money jar?" Rex asked, frowning up at her.
"I heard you mention it, when you were talking with your mama yesterday. I didn’t intend to listen in on you. I’d just finished feeding Minnie and wanted to make sure Ella was all right — should you need me for anything," Amanda said.
Sitting up, Rex explained. "Mama always keeps extra money in a jar hidden in her blanket chest at the foot of the bed. It’s for emergencies and for Christmas and birthdays. That’s what she told me. She showed it to me once. But it’s empty now. I don’t know what happened to all the money."
"Maybe she used it to pay for your Pa’s funeral," Amanda suggested. "Or gave it to Doctor Morgan to pay some medical bills. Do you have any idea how much money was in the jar?"
Rex shook his head. "But don’t worry, Aunt Mandy. I’m going to fill it up again."
"And just how are you going to do so, young man?" She bit off the end of the thread and folded the mended shirt in her lap.
"When Mr. Gladney’s archeology friend comes to the territory to search for Indian relics, I’m going to get a job with the digging crew," he insisted. "It will mean lots of extra money."
"But what about your homework? What about your chores and the chickens?"
"I’ll keep up with my homework and do the chores and feed the chickens too," Rex promised. "If I find something special, a valuable relic, then maybe they’ll let me keep it, and we’ll be rich!" His clear blues eyes sparkled.
"Valuable relics!" Amanda snorted. "Don’t excite yourself, Rex. You’ll find nothing but Indian pots and old bones. Remember what Mr. Gladney said? There’s no gold or anything out there."
"But yesterday at the Sunday school, some fellas were talking about a man who bought an old cannonball from a widow in Farmington. He paid her $25 for it. Yes, it is true!" he insisted, noting Amanda’s scornful glare. "He cut the cannonball open with an ax and inside there were nuggets of gold — old Spanish treasure."
"Quite a story," she commented dryly. She stabbed her needle into the pincushion.
"But it’s true!" Rex protested.
Amanda only shrugged. She didn’t want Rex to get his hopes up. Gil insisted there was no treasure lost amid the ruins, and she believed him. Even if Mr. Phillips hired dozens of workers to help with the excavation, she doubted the archeologist would hire a mere schoolboy when so many full-grown men would be happy to get the work. How she wished there was something she could do to supplement the family income, but she already had her hands full with caring for Minnie and Ella and keeping the household running as smoothly as possible.
"Mr. Gladney wasn’t expecting to find a skeleton or anything, but we did," Rex went on. "It looked sort of scary, sitting there in the corner. Did you hear Sammy scream? He screamed like a girl." He flashed a look of amusement.
"I heard him," Amanda said, a smile tugging at her lips. "So did Greta and Gertrude. They made up their minds they weren’t going down into the chamber at all. I can’t say I blame them. Who wants to see an old skeleton, anyway?"
"I think he might have been a famous chief or Indian medicine man or something. When the archeology fella gets here, he’s going to find mor
e skeletons, I bet. And who knows what else? Mr. Gladney says there’s no Spanish treasure there, but what if the conquistadors camped out there once and had to leave stuff behind on their way north to explore other places? They might have planned to come back and get it some day but forgot or died or something."
Amanda remained silent. Rex was just a boy. He was entitled to have boyish dreams of lost treasure and adventures. She didn’t want to take that away from him. All too soon he’d be grown up and burdened with adult responsibility. Already the boy carried more on his young shoulders than most other youngsters his age. If only she could relieve him of some of his burdens.
"Even if I don’t find any Spanish treasure," he continued, "I can earn money from digging. Everything will be all right. You will see, Aunt Mandy." He nodded, obviously convinced everything would indeed be just fine.
Amanda wasn’t so sure. Ella didn’t appear to be getting any better, and there was still the matter with the bank to be taken care of. She tried not to think about what she would do — would have to do — if Ella passed away, leaving Minnie and Rex as orphans for her to take care of. The thought of Ella dying made her stomach twist into knots. Someone in her family was always dying, it seemed. No matter how hard she tried, she could never quite shake off the feeling of quiet despair weighing so heavily upon her. Her life seemed flat and stale most days. Did God know how much she ached inside? Did He care?
"I like Mr. Gladney, don’t you?" Rex asked, changing the subject.
Amanda could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. Here was dangerous territory! She wondered why Rex was probing. After a brief hesitation, she said, "Yes, he’s a nice man."
"That’s not exactly what I asked," he teased. "You do like Mr. Gladney, don’t you?"
"I can’t imagine anyone not liking your teacher," she replied with care. "He’s smart and kind and has a good sense of humor. He loaned me a book to read, Rex. It’s over there on the table with the Bible."
Rex scrambled to his feet and made his way to the table. He picked up the book and flipped through it. Amanda applauded herself for successfully distracting him from those personal, prying questions.
"Will you come with us again if we go back to the ruins on another field trip?" he asked.
"We’ll see."
"Didn’t you have a good time?" he pressed, shifting from one foot to the other.
"Yes, Rex, I did, but if Mrs. Martinez had not come to stay with your mama and Minnie, I couldn’t have gone with you. I might not be able to get away next time. Like I said, we’ll see."
"Maybe you could help with the spelling bee," he suggested. "It’s coming up soon. We’re going to decorate the schoolroom with paper chains and pumpkins. Mrs. Schwarzkopf promised to make cider punch and popcorn balls too."
"Sounds real nice," Amanda said with a smile. She was glad Rex had something exciting to look forward to.
"I wish we had some of the digging money now. We should buy more chickens — eight-week-old pullets, maybe. New stock. Then there would be even more eggs to sell, and more eggs means more money."
"Rex, I’m planning on having a look at your father’s ledger tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind," Amanda told him. "There’s been a letter from the bank, and I’ll need to take care of that as well. But first I have to find out a little about your father’s chicken business and figure out where we are with money and bills and such. Your mama isn’t able to handle these things yet, so I’ll have to do it for her — just until she’s up and around." Please, God, make it soon.
"I can help," Rex offered.
"You’ve been a big help already, Rex," she said, smiling at him. "I don’t know how I’d have managed the past several weeks without you. But the most important thing for you to do is keep up with your schoolwork. Your father would want that most of all, and your mama too. If you’ll take care of the chickens before and after school, I’ll try to figure out the finances. Deal?"
Rex nodded. "You should talk to Mr. Schwarzkopf when he comes out this week for those crates of eggs. I bet he can explain some things to you. He and Pa did business together. He gave Pa credit at the store and kept a tally. He’s still doing that, I reckon. When we used to go in to town for chicken feed and supplies, he just subtracted it from the amount he owed us for the eggs."
"I guessed as much," Amanda said. "I’ll speak with him this week."
"Do you think he’d give us cash to buy the pullets?"
"I’m not sure buying more chickens is a good idea right now," she replied, rising from the rocker. "I want to figure out where we stand, and who we owe money to, first. Put away the books now, and get ready for bed. It’s going to be chilly tonight, so you can make your pallet near the fire, if you want."
Rex had given up his bedroom when Amanda had arrived and had been sleeping on the floor in the sitting room. She hadn’t minded inconveniencing him so much during the summer when the weather was warm. But winter was coming. The nights were getting cold. Amanda worried he might catch a chill on the cold floor. Maybe she could find a cot or something for him to use.
"What about Mrs. Johnson?" Rex asked, interrupting her thoughts.
"What about her?" Amanda replied, puzzled.
"Why does she want to buy our land? What made her think we’d sell up? Can the bank kick us out if we are late making a payment? I wouldn’t sell to her if she were the last person on earth!"
Rex’s forehead creased with worry. His eyes appeared large and frightened. Amanda, noticing, grieved for him. A kid his age shouldn’t have to worry about such things. She slipped an arm around his thin shoulders, pulling him close.
"Rex, don’t concern yourself with Beulah Johnson. No one can make us sell the place to Mrs. Johnson, or anyone else for that matter." Amanda hoped this was true. She didn’t know for certain, but she wanted to do what she could to reassure the boy, so he wouldn’t worry so much.
"Besides, who says we have to sell? Now, let Bonita out for the night. Maybe she can protect the hens from the predator — whatever it is. Put the book on the kitchen table for me, would you?"
While Rex let the dog out and retrieved his bedding, Amanda slipped into Ella’s room to pick up the baby cradle. She padded it with flannel blankets and placed Minnie inside, covering her with even more blankets. The baby stretched and yawned and went right back to sleep. Minnie was a good baby, and Amanda was grateful.
"She can sleep out there with me," Rex offered when he saw Amanda dragging the cradle to her room. "It will be warmer near the fire."
"She’ll wake you up when she starts crying," Amanda cautioned.
Rex shrugged. "That’s okay. I’ll come get you and then go back to sleep. I always do." Smiling down at his sleeping baby sister, he said, "I think Jerry is right. She is getting bigger."
"She is," Amanda agreed with certainty.
"This was my cradle when I was a baby," he added. He seemed pleased to have something he could share with Minnie.
With Rex and Minnie settled for the night, Amanda decided to check on Ella one last time. She drew the blankets up to her sister’s chin and tucked her frail hands underneath the covers. Poor Ella. Who would have imagined her vivacious younger sister would prove to be so fragile?
Amanda had always considered Ella the lucky one — she’d had eight years of schooling and married at sixteen. Ella left Las Cruces with Randall Stewart and started a family of her own, while Amanda had reluctantly dropped out of school to care for their ailing mother and later their sick father. Sometimes she’d envied Ella. It was wrong to do so, she knew. There was nothing enviable about Ella’s situation now. Bending over, she kissed her sister’s cold forehead. "I’m sorry, Ella. I’m so sorry."
Straightening her shoulders, Amanda returned to the kitchen, taking the kerosene lamp with her. Turning up the wick, she sat down to read. Although she was tired, she wasn’t ready to go to bed. Earlier in the day, she’d promised to treat herself to one chapter of Ben-Hur. Amanda found herself hungry for a good book to read. Had
she imagined the pleasant tenderness reflected in Gil’s eyes when he gave it to her? She hoped not. Picking up the book, Amanda vowed the next time she encountered the man, she’d have something to talk to him about other than Rex’s scholastic progress and the old Indian ruins on the Animas River.
****
Minnie woke up bright and early Monday morning, squalling for milk. Amanda decided to try using one of Doc Morgan’s bottles this time. She was delighted when the baby latched on to the black nipple with enthusiasm. Cradling the infant gently in the crook of her arm, Amanda watched her tiny niece gulp and swallow. Milk dribbled down from the corners of her small pink mouth. Amanda’s heart glowed with joy.
"You little darling!" she cooed. She watched the baby drink with an eager appetite and thanked the Lord for it. If only Ella would make as much effort to eat and grow strong, she thought with a wistful sigh.
Rex was up early too. He fed and watered old Toby in the barn and also fed the hens.
"You go on to school. I’ll gather the eggs this morning," Amanda offered.
"Thanks, Aunt Mandy." Grabbing his slate, the geography book, and a small lunch bucket containing two applesauce and ham sandwiches, Rex sprinted down the steps of the porch and hurried away in the direction of the village school house.
After changing and dressing Minnie in a clean flannel gown, Amanda gulped down bread and coffee for her own breakfast. She coaxed Ella into drinking a cup of chicken broth. After lugging a large pan of water to heat on the back of the stove, Amanda made her way to the chicken house to gather eggs. This she did quickly, filling two baskets. She sighed with relief when a brief glance around the chicken yard revealed no dead hens this morning. She was returning to the house with the egg baskets when Bonita came bounding up behind her.
"Hello, girl. Where have you been?" Amanda leaned over to caress the dog’s ears. Bonita wagged her broken tail with fierce affection. She noticed the smear of blood at the corner of the dog’s mouth.
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