Amanda's Beau

by Shirley Raye Redmond

  "Rex is a hard worker and a good boy," she said, with feeling.

  "Indeed he is," Nate agreed. He held up a ledger in one hand and said, "I’m making an inventory of everything we’ve found so far. I will include it in my letter to the curator of the museum back in New York. I’m also planning to ship most of these relics back to him so his staff can process, catalog, and photograph each item. I think he’ll be impressed — with me and the relics."

  "Is that important?" she wanted to know.

  "Certainly," Nate replied with a nod. "Archeology is a new study, one capable of capturing the public’s imagination. I don’t want to be just another well-read, well-traveled history scholar. I want to earn an international reputation."

  "As what?" Amanda asked.

  "As a famous archeologist, of course," he replied with impatience. "This discovery could be just the beginning for me. I’m grateful Gil put me onto it. When the museum curator back in New York sees these," he made a sweeping gesture, "I’m sure he will provide the funds for a more thorough excavation of the site next summer."

  "How long will that take? To completely excavate the old settlement, I mean?" Amanda asked.

  "I don’t know," Nate admitted. "It will depend upon the funding for the project. It will take years, probably. We can only work in warm weather when the ground isn’t frozen, of course. In fact, I’ll soon be leaving. Will you miss me?"

  Somewhat flustered by this unexpected question, Amanda ignored it. "Will you come back in the spring?"

  Nate inclined his head. "Perhaps. I might ask for the job of heading up the excavation, and I think I’d get it. Or…" he paused significantly, "I might return to Egypt or Greece. I might not come back to New Mexico territory at all. Perhaps I shall apply to join the staff at Pompeii in Italy. They are excavating the summer palace there. The frescoes are magnificent, I’m told. Did you know the city was buried by volcano ash centuries ago?"

  "Sounds interesting," Amanda admitted.

  "I could loan you a book with photographs," Nate offered, giving her a flicker of a smile.

  "I’d enjoy that. I like reading."

  "What else do you like, Miss Dale?" When he took a step toward her, Amanda skirted away from him, around the stack of woven mat remnants and a pile of ragged turkey feather blankets.

  "Too many things to mention," she replied. "I need to get back to the house. My sister is expecting me."

  "The dutiful and beautiful Miss Dale," he crooned.

  Amanda hesitated. She knew she needed to return to the house. By now, Ella must surely be wondering where she was. But something held her there. Curiosity? Hope? Unfulfilled longing? What it was exactly, she couldn’t say. She approached one of the covered skeletons. Drawing back the canvas sheeting, she braced herself for the gruesome sight of human remains. She surveyed the messy pile of disjointed bones and dried ligaments. Tufts of dark hair still clung to the skull. An unusual amulet rested on the decayed chest. She was not as repulsed as she had expected to be.

  "Why, it’s sad, isn’t it?" she said in quiet, pensive voice. "I think Mr. Gladney suggested these might be the remains of a great chief. He was somebody important once, but we shall never even know his name. We don’t know if he was a good man or an evil one. There is no one left to tell of his deeds or keep his memory alive."

  "My dear Miss Dale, I believe you’re a romantic," Nate said softly.

  "No, I’m not," she insisted. "I was actually thinking of a Bible verse I memorized as a child. ‘The grass withers and the flower fades.’" She paused, wondering if he would complete the well known verse from Isaiah. When he didn’t, she said, "‘But the word of our God will stand forever.’"

  "Yes… er… so they say." His tone was dismissive.

  Surprised, Amanda asked, "Don’t you read the Bible, Mr. Phillips?"

  "I outgrew my need for God many years ago," he said giving her a condescending smile. "As you are determined to return to your domestic duties, I must return to my own. Pity." He arched a brow in a suggestive manner.

  Disturbed, Amanda watched him open his ledger and make a few notes. She wasn’t sure what bothered her the most: that Nate thought he had no need for God or that he so casually dared to admit it. With a heavy heart, she made her way to the open door and left him alone with his precious relics. As she did so, Ella’s words came back to her: You’ll know, Mandy. You’ll know.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, Gil stood on the front step of the schoolhouse, a fierce wind buffeting his body and tousling his hair. He had to squint to keep the swirling grit and dust from getting into his eyes. The sky to the west took on an ugly gray color. He didn’t like the looks of it. Something fierce was blowing in, for sure. A forceful gust rattled the schoolhouse windows, and the towering old poplar trembled and seemed to whine with fear as wind blew through its long, skinny branches.

  Gil felt restless and even a little worried. The pupils hadn’t been able to concentrate all morning. During recess a blast of cold air had blown little Bunny Bergschneider to the ground — knocking her flat. Even the three horses, tied to the hitching post, seemed fidgety. He toyed with the idea of sending the youngsters home early. Even though it was only the middle of October, a blizzard could blow up.

  He remembered all too well the deadly winter season of 1888. At the time, he was seventeen years old and lived in Indiana with his family. Winter seemed determined to linger forever during the year. Raging snowstorms plagued the middle portions of the United States, as far north as North and South Dakota and all the way south to Texas. In January, a blinding snowstorm had killed hundreds of people, many of them school children on their way home from school. He remembered reading about it in the newspaper — reporters had called it The School Children’s Blizzard.

  At the time, he thought such killer snowstorms only happened on the western prairies. But in March of the same year, a severe blizzard slammed New York City, bringing with it more than forty inches of snow and ferocious, deadly winds. The Brooklyn Bridge had been covered with ice. Telephone and telegraph wires froze and snapped. Heavy snow smothered the train tracks. The city became incapacitated. People died. Many bodies were not found until spring when the snow finally melted.

  Gil remembered the papers reporting one tragedy after another. The event had made a strong impression on him at the time. Recalling those disturbing events now, he made his decision: he would send the children home at once. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, but as his mother would say, ‘Better safe than sorry.’

  He returned to the classroom. Running his hands through his disheveled hair, he announced, "Students, I’m dismissing school for the day. I want each of you to go straight home. Take your reading primers, your copybooks, and your arithmetic texts. You can work on your lessons at home today."

  "There’s a storm coming, I think," Sammy Hurtado spoke up.

  "I think you’re right," Gil agreed with a smile.

  "Maybe we’ll get snow," one of the other youngsters suggested.

  "We just might," Gil replied. "Class is dismissed."

  There was a noisy scramble for books, jackets, and empty lunch pails followed by the sound of children stomping down the steps as they left the schoolhouse. Gil stacked his books on the corner of his desk and erased the blackboard. With the wind this fierce, he expected Nate would dismiss the laborers at the excavation site for the rest of the day too. They certainly wouldn’t be able to accomplish much with sand and dirt flying all over the place.

  Gil made his way to his small living quarters, stoked the fire and put on a pot of coffee to boil. He sat down at the table to go over some American history notes, but found his scholarly thoughts kept straying to more amorous ones concerning Amanda Dale. Lately, the image of her sweet, smiling face had been keeping him up at night too. He’d become so distracted of late he had finally made up his mind to have a frank talk with her — a candid talk about his feelings and his financial circumstances — about everything.

  Y
esterday, Rex, in high spirits, had mentioned the great improvement in his mother’s health. At the time, Gil had expressed his heartfelt wishes for Mrs. Stewart’s complete recovery. It was good news indeed. But he feared one day soon, the boy would come tell him Amanda was making plans to return to her home in Las Cruces, miles away from Aztec. Gil couldn’t bear the thought. She might walk out of his life forever. He loved her. He knew it now. He wanted to marry her. Even though they’d not shared many long conversations together, the ones they had enjoyed had been meaningful ones. Besides, he knew a lot about her because of her present circumstances. She was a kind woman, who had left her own home to selflessly care for her widowed sister and the fatherless Stewart children in their time of need.

  How could he allow Amanda to leave without ever telling her exactly how he felt? He had to tell her — and soon. If she returned to Las Cruces after Mrs. Stewart made a full recovery, he might never see Amanda again. This agonizing thought cut him to his soul, like the thrusting twist of a sharp knife blade. Nearly every waking hour seemed consumed by thoughts or images of Amanda — her laugh, those melting brown eyes, her soft-spoken responses, and her resiliency in the midst of trouble. She wasn’t merely a woman he could live with — she was the only woman he couldn’t live without.

  He’d been reluctant to say anything to her before, because he was not in a financial situation that would allow him to provide her with a home immediately. But if she would be willing to wait, Gil vowed to work his fingers to the bone to provide for her as soon as possible. Recalling how her eyes had sparkled when she spoke with him on Sunday at the spelling bee, Gil felt certain his declaration of love would not be unwelcome. Yes, her eyes had glowed with such warm tenderness. It had thrilled him when he noticed. Surely she felt something for him — something more than neighborly goodwill?

  As Gil poured himself a cup of coffee, he glanced at the time. Nate still hadn’t returned from the site. Nor had the wind abated. He began to wonder if he should go out there to check up on his friend. Being unfamiliar with the region’s weather, Nate might not realize how quick a storm could kick up in the territory. Or perhaps Nate might need help covering as much of the exposed chambers before rain or snow ruined what had been salvaged so far. Dragging on his corduroy coat, Gil gulped down the remainder of the hot coffee in his cup. He pulled his coat collar up as he stepped outside, into the wind.

  The ominous sky was as gray as lead. He leaned into the wind, plodding his way to the old ruins. He hadn’t gone far when he realized Nate had indeed called it quits for the day and sent the workers home. Several men, already saddled up, rode past Gil, headed for town. Others climbed into their buckboards, preparing to leave. Tarps flapped in the wind. A small, gritty dust devil swirled past him on its way toward the river.

  At a glance, Gil couldn’t see Nate anywhere, but he did notice Rex Stewart. With a surge of irritation, he stomped over to the boy, who was lugging a bucket of potsherds. He seized Rex by the arm, exclaiming, "I thought I told you to go straight home?"

  "I am going home, Mr. Gladney, but I can’t find Aunt Mandy. Have you seen her? She came out to get me in the wagon. My ma sent her. That’s our buckboard over there." He pointed. Then he placed his forearm over his eyes as a blast of dust and grit swirled around and over them. "I had to talk to Mr. Phillips about something. Aunt Mandy said she’d wait. Now I can’t find her," Rex went on.

  His heart racing, Gil replied, "No, I haven’t seen her either." He dreaded the thought of Amanda out in weather like this. He wanted her and Rex out of the elements before the skies opened up. The clouds continued to grow darker and more threatening. Something was coming, for sure. Snow, rain, hail, sleet, or maybe all of them together at once. He’d seen such storms before out west.

  Gil craned his neck, scanning the four corners of the site, hoping for any sign of Amanda. There was none. She could easily have had an accident, he feared. "Do you think she went down toward the riverbank?" he asked Rex.

  The boy shrugged his skinny shoulders. His freckled face reflected Gil’s own anxiety. "Should I go look?"

  "Yes, leave the bucket and hurry," Gil urged. "But don’t get near the water. Stay far enough up on the bank. In this wind, a gust could easily blow you into the river. Just take a quick look and then meet me at your wagon. We’ll find her. But we have to hurry."

  Rex tried to rush off, but staggered in the wind. Gil made his way to the center of the site. Two men hurried past him, clinging to their hats and clutching their jackets tight across their chests. When Gil asked them if they’d seen Miss Dale or any other woman on the site, they shook their heads and trudged toward the picket line to claim their horses.

  "Amanda!" He cupped his hand to his mouth and called out. "Amanda, where are you?" What if she’d wrenched an ankle and fainted? Or something worse? Maybe a gust of wind had blown her over into one of the exposed cavities. He had to find her.

  On the eastern edge of the old ruins, he noticed Nate wrestling with a large canvas tarp, attempting to cover some exposed pottery and other artifacts. With long, purposeful strides, Gil hurried toward him. Grabbing the other end of the flapping tarp, Gil asked, "Have you seen Amanda? She came out here to pick up Rex."

  "No," Nate said, lowering the tarp and hastily securing the corners with a pile of rocks. "Give me a hand, would you? I’ve got to cover as much as I can before the rain or snow destroys everything."

  "Later. I’ve got to find Amanda," Gil replied curtly. The devil could take the old ruins for all he cared at the moment. He needed to find Amanda, to be certain she was all right. His tortured imagination conjured dreadful images of her lying alone in the dark in one of the exposed cavities — perhaps with a broken arm or leg.

  He made his way to the section of the old settlement where workers had rebuilt the walls of a series of chambers. It reminded him a little of a rabbit warren, one small room leading to the next, with short doorframes and small crooked windows. One could enter a particular chamber and move on through to another and so on, just like a honeycomb. The doorways were low so Gil ducked his head as he moved from one chamber to the next. Obviously, the long-forgotten people who had once lived here were not six-feet tall and broad-shouldered. Something scuttled across the tip of Gil’s boot. Something small and furry — a rat perhaps?

  "Amanda! Can you hear me?" He called her name again and again. He thought his voice sounded desperate with trembling intensity. He felt a bit desperate too. When he heard the startled wail, his heart slammed against his ribs. Amanda! He sped though the connected passageways as quickly as he could, being careful not to bump his head against the low doorframes.

  "Help me! Hurry, please!" The urgency in her voice frightened him.

  "I’m coming, Amanda!" Gil called back. His throat felt dry, and the palms of his hands grew moist with nervous sweat. Dirt and grit blew through the stone warren like a blast of pellets. Gil had considered this particular section of the site to be safe. Nate had taken precautions to shore up the old timbers and masonry walls. Had one of the walls collapsed, trapping Amanda underneath?

  He rounded a corner. Just as he ducked his head to enter the next chamber, Amanda let out a sob. "Gil, stop! Don’t come any closer."

  He hesitated, bracing himself in the middle of the doorway. A swift glace at Amanda’s pale face convinced him she was scared but unhurt — so far. She’d backed herself into the far corner of the small room and stood trembling atop a mound of debris. A skunk, reeling on unsteady legs, stood between her and the doorway where Gil now loomed.

  "Gil, shoot it!" she pleaded, a quiver in her voice.

  "Amanda, I can’t. I don’t have a gun with me," he replied hoarsely. "Don’t move." The panting skunk foamed at the mouth. Its eyes appeared glazed and unfocused. One bite from those small, knife-sharp teeth and Amanda would die a slow and terrible death. Gil’s skin became cold and damp just imagining this horrible possibility. How he wished he had a pistol or a shotgun with him. His wary eyes flickered from the sku
nk to Amanda.

  In a near whisper, he said, "The animal has rabies."

  "Yes," Amanda gasped in small, distressed breaths. She’d scrambled as high as she could upon a pile of debris — crumbled stones, fragments of old baskets, and broken pottery. She wore a red-and-black flannel jacket — a man’s jacket. Her long, dark hair had tumbled partially from its coil at the back of her head. Several thick strands trailed to her shoulders and down her back. Her parted lips quivered. Gil didn’t dare leave her to find a weapon or to call for Nate to come and help. Or maybe he should?

  Amanda lifted her long skirt and moved one foot a bit higher on the debris pile. Dirt and pebbles tumbled down. Hands splayed, she braced herself against the ancient wall. The skunk wobbled its head in her direction.

  Gil made up his mind in an instant. He wouldn’t leave her. He couldn’t. "Amanda, be still," he warned in an anxious, but hushed voice. The fright in her beautiful dark eyes twisted his guts. "Don’t move, and don’t cry out." Without moving, he glanced around for anything he might use as a weapon. A shovel perhaps, or even a hefty stick or part of a wooden beam. There was nothing but an assortment of pebbles and rocks and crumbled building stones — all too risky to use.

  With slow, watchful movements, he took off his coat, intending to use it as a drag net. He stretched it out between his long arms and cautiously approached the rabid skunk. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum as he realized the animal could bite him, if he wasn’t quick enough and cunning too.

  Gil flapped the coat to attract the skunk’s attention. Turning, the animal heaved forward, making gargling noises in its throat. It seemed to study him with glazed eyes as it wobbled toward him. Then the animal lost its balance and tumbled over.

  "Gil," Amanda whispered his name, like a prayer.

  Quickly, he tossed his coat over the animal, covering it completely. Using the long sleeves like drawstrings, he scooped the skunk into the garment, careful to avoid the section where the animal’s head and mouth would be. With several swift motions, Gil swung the bundled coat, twisting and wrapping the diseased animal tighter and tighter inside. A pungent odor filled the room. He choked. Amanda brought her forearm to cover her nose. Then he slammed the bundle against the wall as hard as he could. Again and again Gil battered the coat against the relentless wall until both the stones and his ruined coat were stained crimson with blood.