Daughter of Grace

by Michael Phillips

  “No, I want you to call me Katie, without the ma’am. That’s what everybody at home calls me—Katie. And I see no reason to change it now. You children may call me Katie, or Kathryn, or Miss Morgan—whatever your father would like.”

  “You kids call her Miss Morgan, you hear,” said Pa.

  “And you, Mr. Hollister?” she asked. “How would you have me address you?”

  “Well I reckon you can call me Drummond, ’cause that’s my name, though most of the boys call me Drum. You can use that, too, if you like.”

  “I like Drummond. It’s a good, strong name.”

  “Well, Kathryn, ma’am,” said Pa, not even realizing he’d ignored both Miss Morgan’s requests in one breath, “like I was fixin’ to say, you’ll be wanting to get your bags. I reckon they got them unloaded by this time.”

  “Yes, I asked the steward to take care of them for me.”

  She turned, glanced around for a moment, spotted the steward, and was instantly off in his direction. The rest of us followed.

  She was sure lively. She had told us her aunt said she wasn’t timid, and I guess her aunt was right.

  Chapter 26

  Katie

  We took two days getting back to Miracle, stopping that first night in Folsom and the second in Colfax at some boarding houses Pa’d made arrangements with on the way down. It sure was an interesting drive.

  There was so much to get used to!

  Inside the coach the talk was lively, Miss Morgan asking Emily and Becky and me and Tad all kinds of questions. Emily was reserved at first, although Becky and Tad made up for it, chattering away as if Miss Morgan was their best friend they hadn’t seen in a year. Being the youngest, their memories of Ma might have started to get vague sooner than for the rest of us. Or maybe the pain of memories was dimmer, and so that made it easier for them to accept her right away.

  It was a little crowded inside, and at first I put Tad up on my lap. But it wasn’t long before Miss Morgan hoisted him up onto hers, and there Tad was content to stay. His big brown eyes were glued to her face. And Becky would sit no place but right beside her, talking away, sometimes all three of them at once.

  Emily and I sat across from them, listening and looking out the windows. I was thinking a lot, too. But Miss Morgan didn’t let us go for too long without joining in the talk.

  There were long periods of quiet when everyone’s energy would get used up for a while. Even Tad and Becky needed to rest their mouths and minds sometimes. At such times I’d try to watch Miss Morgan out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t want her to think I was staring at her, but I couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking about us all when she drew in a deep breath and looked outside at the countryside passing by.

  And I wondered what was going through Pa’s mind, too, outside up on the box guiding the horses, as he listened to the sounds of laughter from inside. What might a man be thinking, to hear the voice of a woman he hardly knew, a woman he’d brought west to be his wife, laughing and talking with the children of his first wife?

  We made lots of stops. It seemed like somebody needed to go to the outhouse every ten minutes or so. But since there wasn’t one, we had to make use of the woods instead. And Pa was trying to be considerate of Miss Morgan too, I could tell.

  After some of the stops we’d rearrange and shift places. I sat up with Pa some of the time, and so did the others. Miss Morgan sat with him a time or two as well, but I couldn’t hear what they talked about.

  Halfway through the second day we were bouncing along during one of those quiet times. Becky was up front with Pa, so the commotion inside was less. Tad was asleep next to me, leaning against my shoulder. Miss Morgan and Emily across from me were each looking out their windows.

  She’d been trying to get me at least to call her Katie, but I wasn’t quite used to it. I was old enough to be an adult, she said, and if Pa wanted the younger ones to keep calling her Miss Morgan out of respect, that was okay with her. But she hoped to be more like a sister than a stepmother to me, she said, and she’d like me to call her Katie. I smiled and said I’d try.

  When we were all being quiet for a spell, I had a chance to look at Miss Morgan a little more carefully than I could while she was moving about and conversing away with us.

  The first thing I couldn’t help noticing about Katie was her mouth. I’ve noticed that most people have a particular part that draws my eyes first. When I meet someone new, I find myself staring at one place on them—usually some part of their face. Often it’s the mouth or the eyes, of course. But every once in a while I come across someone with an unusual nose or a high hairline or a hat I can’t take my eyes off. And sometimes I even find myself staring at somebody’s ears!

  For as long as I can remember I’ve noticed people’s faces and tried to imagine which part of them was opening into the real them, that part of them that thought and felt, their “soul” I guess you’d say. With some people I find myself looking into their eyes and knowing that I’m seeing a little bit “inside” them. Mrs. Parrish’s eyes are like that. When they’re looking into my face, or filling with liquid because she’s feeling something deep, or when they’re sparkling with love, I just can’t look at anything but her eyes. And when I’m talking to Mrs. Parrish, I talk to her eyes, because that’s the part of her that makes her who she is.

  With other people I find myself talking to their mouth, and with others I kind of work back and forth between the eyes and mouth. I remember one little boy back in Bridgeville—he couldn’t talk at all, so he had to make folks understand him without words. His whole face was moving every second, and I never had any trouble telling whether he was happy or sad or whatever. His eyes and mouth and nose and eyebrows and ears and forehead all moved about, and I knew what was inside his mind. After I knew him a while, I almost forgot he couldn’t talk.

  Katie Morgan’s mouth was what drew my attention first. And always after that when we were looking at each other, I talked to her mouth and watched what it did. Her mouth, like Mrs. Parrish’s eyes, was that little window in her face that looked down inside the real her.

  It was a wide mouth, that spread out into her cheeks when she smiled. Her teeth weren’t big, but she showed them every time she spoke, nice, even white teeth. It was a mouth that always had something to say, even when she was just quietly thinking. Even then the lips would be subtly moving, shaping themselves with thought, moving this way and that, up and down, sideways. And when she talked—which was a lot of the time—then the mouth was more active than ever. The teeth, the lips, the laughter—everything about her mouth was used when she was communicating.

  The voice that came out of the mouth, too, was part of all that. It was a high voice, though not too high, a pleasant voice to listen to, that sounded like it would be able to sing. While Pa’s voice sometimes reminded me of a high, rugged mountain, and Mrs. Parrish’s made me picture a summer sunset, Katie’s brought to mind a cheerful stream, full of clear snow water, rushing down a hillside in spring.

  Actually, Katie’s whole face was wide, wide enough so it had room for her big smile. Her nose was ordinary and her forehead wide. She had medium brown hair, combed down the middle and falling off to the right and left to just above her shoulders.

  Katie’s eyes were green, and they opened real big when she was trying to be astonished, so that white spread all around the black and green parts in the middle. At times like that I’d look at her eyes instead of her mouth, because they could flash and show expression too. Her whole face was like that—active and expressive. It wasn’t a face I could ignore if she was looking at me. She made sure you looked back.

  What she’d said in her letter was true. I don’t reckon Pa figured she was beautiful the first time he set eyes on her as she got off the boat. But then when you caught her eyes and mouth in just the right expression, she was pretty enough. I don’t suppose Ma was beautiful either, and Pa sure loved her. And prettiness doesn’t count for much if it’s hiding ugline
ss down inside. Katie Morgan was average-looking—just like most women, I reckon.

  She’d said she was a little stocky, and I suppose that’s a good enough word. I noticed her height right off. I was likely two or three inches taller than her, and she was a little on the thick side, though not plump. It was a hardworking sort of build, sturdy and strong. When she shook my hand, her grasp had been firm and her hand large and rough. I didn’t see anything dainty about the rest of her. You could just tell by the way she walked and moved, and by the look of her hands and face and arms, that she was a woman who would be able to do what she needed to get by, and that she’d probably get along in the West just fine.

  She was dressed in a nice-enough looking dress, blue and a creamy color, sort of between yellow and white. It was probably her best dress. If I were coming to meet a new husband, I’d wear my Sunday clothes for sure. But as we sat in the carriage and I had the chance to take in a little more about Katie’s appearance than I had noticed on the dock, I could see that spots of the blue were faded here and there, and underneath the elbows the cloth was wearing a mite thin. It was not a new dress, and not at all fancy.

  Funny how you notice little details about people more and more that you didn’t see at first—like the dress Katie was wearing. And after two days of being absorbed with her mouth, watching it, listening to it, having conversation back and forth, getting to know her as she talked—as we rode along that second day when it was quiet and Tad was sleeping, I found myself looking at her eyes almost for the first time. She was gazing out the window. Her mouth and whole face was still and calm.

  And what I saw—or thought I saw—was a look in the eyes of question and wonder. Looking out over the California gold country for the first time, maybe she was thinking about Virginia, thinking about how far she’d come, thinking about that man up there in front shouting at the two horses. I don’t suppose she could help wondering if she’d done the right thing, wondering what was going to become of her in this strange new land, wondering if she—like the seed from the pine cone—was going to be able to grow in this new California soil. I thought I saw a hint of loneliness too, just for a second, like she was already homesick. I’d been worried so much about myself and how hard her coming was going to be on me.

  Suddenly I found myself feeling sorry for her.

  Chapter 27

  Never the Same Again

  Eight or ten miles from Miracle, Zack and Little Wolf galloped on ahead.

  By the time we reached town, word of our coming had spread and a dozen or so people were hanging around doors and windows, hoping for a sight of the new Mrs. Hollister-to-be.

  But Pa wanted none of their gawking faces. At the first sight of them, he could tell what they were up to. He lashed the reins and shouted to the horses, and we flew down Miracle’s main street like a black blur. I hardly had time to show Katie two or three buildings, and we were already out the other end, crossing the creek, heading round the bend and starting the long circular climb toward our place.

  He slowed down after that, but it was still a bumpy, clattering ride up the hill, across the creek two or three more times, to the claim. We were glad to be home when we heard Pa’s “Whoa!” and felt the horses come to a stop.

  “Well, here we are!” said Pa, climbing down from the front and opening the door for us.

  Katie stepped out, glanced around, and drew in a deep breath with a look of satisfaction. Just then Uncle Nick walked up.

  “Nick, this here’s Miss Kathryn Morgan,” Pa said, as he tied up the two horses to the hitching rail.

  Uncle Nick looked Katie over, with not a frown exactly, but a serious expression, and certainly not a friendly one.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Belle,” said Katie. “I hope we can be friends. The children have been telling me all about you!”

  Uncle Nick didn’t say anything.

  “And they’ve been telling me about your sister,” Katie added. “They’re very fond of her, you know. And I hope you don’t think I will ever presume to take her place.”

  Uncle Nick’s face seemed to brighten just a little. “She was a fine lady, Aggie was,” he said, speaking to her for the first time. “She made Drum here a fine wife.”

  “I am so sorry she didn’t make it here with the children,” Katie replied. “I only hope I can be half as good a wife as she was. I just want to be a help to you all here.” She sure knew how to make herself pleasing!

  Uncle Nick gave her another look, a little longer one this time, then threw his glance in Pa’s direction. “She might do after all, Drum! She ain’t no Agatha Belle, but you mighta done okay for yourself!”

  Before Pa could answer, Katie said, “I thank you kindly for your approval, Mr. Belle. I will take that as a compliment!”

  “Corrie, take Miss Kathryn inside and show her the place while we get the bags down,” Pa said. “Zack, get up on top there and untie that rope.”

  Katie and I went inside, followed by the three younger ones. Zack helped Pa. Little Wolf had galloped off over the hill to his place just outside Miracle. I don’t know where Uncle Nick went. We didn’t see him again till suppertime.

  It was about four-thirty in the afternoon when we got home. The sun was just thinking about settling down over the hills downstream. So the first thing we did was to start making supper. It reminded me of Christmas day with all three of us girls and Katie in the kitchen at the same time. Pa stuck his head in the door to say, “I’m taking the carriage back to the Freight Company. I’ll be back inside forty minutes.” I thought it was funny that he’d leave again so soon after getting home. And it was curious, too, that he didn’t mention Mrs. Parrish’s name about the carriage. But I hardly had a chance to think about it more, and before I knew it he was back and we were ready for supper.

  Pa had halfway fixed up his and Uncle Nick’s room for Katie to stay in after she got there. He didn’t really do much except take their stuff out. He and Uncle Nick were planning to stay in the barn until the wedding, which didn’t please Uncle Nick too much. He’d said that he didn’t see why Pa didn’t just put her up in a boardinghouse in town someplace instead of turning them out of their own home. But Pa said they couldn’t tell what kind of woman she was if they were always having to ride into town to fetch her every day. If anyone needed to stay in town, Pa’d said, then Uncle Nick could. Uncle Nick went off in a huff, but he didn’t go to Mrs. Gianini’s, and that first night he was out sleeping in the barn with Pa. It was a good thing summer was coming and most of the cold weather was past.

  Well things were sure different around here after that. And I realized they’d never be the same again.

  There wasn’t much actual talk about the wedding—not at first, anyway. It was more or less taken for granted, and we just went about living our lives every day, knowing it was out there and the day was steadily approaching. I knew Pa’d been planning on having the ceremony sometime in June, after Katie had been here about a month. He told Uncle Nick once that he figured “a month was long enough to find out if she’s gonna take to the kids or not.”

  In Pa’s mind, the marriage was still just mostly for us. But I knew he wanted to make the best of it for himself too, as long as it was something he felt had to be. I didn’t know what day Pa was thinking of, but I figured it would be in the middle of June, probably on a Sunday after the church service was over.

  He’d went into town a week after Katie got to Miracle to see Rev. Rutledge. I figured it was about the wedding plans.

  Chapter 28

  May 1854

  Those five weeks between May 13 and the wedding on June 24 were weeks of getting accustomed to new ways.

  Every one of us around that place had plenty of change and adjusting to do, getting familiar with having Katie around. It was like when we’d come and had had to get used to Pa. Now that we were used to him, everything was changing again. Now that I think of it, I suppose it was hardest of all for Katie. But she hardly ever showed it.

&nb
sp; I wrote a lot in my journal that month. With Katie there, I had more time because I wasn’t having to do as much work myself. So I had a chance to write and read more than usual, and take some long walks.

  Actually, it wasn’t as hard for me after Katie got there as I’d thought it would be. Katie must have known that there’d be things I’d be struggling to get used to. She seemed to go out of her way to be nice—and not just to me. She was nice and cheerful to everyone.

  We’d get up in the morning and she’d send us off to school with lunches and a wave. I still helped to get the younger ones ready to go, but it was nice having help with the breakfast and lunches. When we got home, she’d always say something like, “Well, Corrie, what do you think we should do about supper tonight?” still halfway treating me like I was the woman in charge of the house. I wasn’t, of course, but she was considerate and that made me feel a mite silly for all the worrying I’d done earlier.

  All in all, the first week or two wasn’t so bad. It was like having a maid around the place—which was a peculiar enough thing for folks like us!

  We were gone at school most of the day, till mid-afternoon, so I can’t say what things were like then. Pa and Uncle Nick kept working away up at the mine pretty much as usual. Alkali Jones was here probably half the days. Katie kept busy in the house and I could see things she’d done—cleaning and arranging—when I got home. It had looked all right to me before, but she seemed to find ways to make it look better. After a while the cabin started to take on a more homey look. She started working on curtains for the windows and would ask Pa for this and that—some shelves here, some new linen or bedclothes there—and Pa would oblige with whatever she wanted.

  Miss Stansberry sometimes talked about wishing she could be “a fly on the wall” listening to somebody else’s conversation. I laughed when I first heard her say it, but I wished the same myself when we were at school—to be a fly on the wall of the cabin!