by Jane Peart
But down deep she knew no one can save another person from himself. That was humanly impossible. “But with God anything is possible.” During the long-term sentence he would probably get for the many robberies, Wade would have time to think about his life, search his soul. All she could do now was pray for him.
Sighing, Mindy began to write. An hour later, she put the copy on Pete’s desk with the instruction “Set in banner headlines: NOTORIOUS BANK ROBBER ARRESTED BY LOCAL SHERIFF.”
Chapter 27
In the weeks following Wade’s arrest, Mindy had difficulty dealing with the callousness revealed in the interview. How could she have been so deceived? She blamed herself for ignoring some of the signs she should have noticed, the ones Elyse saw and had now certainly turned out to be true. What a waste of a brilliant mind, a man of physical strength and many abilities.
Determined to not let her disillusionment with Wade destroy or embitter her, Mindy reminded herself she had a great deal to be thankful for: work she loved, her youth, her health. Gradually, as the months went by, the wounds caused by Wade’s betrayal began to heal. As she rebounded from disappointment and disillusion, she discovered she was stronger than she had thought. Her natural optimism resurfaced and she found she could look to the future with hope. Then one day a letter, postmarked Sacramento, arrived.
My dear Miss McClaren,
I am about to complete my business here and am planning to come to Coarse Gold within the next week. I will again be on a mission for my mother. She was grieved that there was no headstone on Uncle Byron’s grave and has asked me to arrange for one to be placed there with an appropriate epitaph.
May I prevail on your kindness and affection for my uncle to help me select one? Mother and I agree that you would be the person most able to do this. You knew him so well during the years when we, his family, did not have the opportunity to be with him.
If it is still available and convenient for me to do so, may I stay in Uncle Byron’s cottage? This will give me ample time to go more thoroughly through his belongings, making decisions about what to keep and what should be disposed of or packed and shipped to Pennsylvania. I may also ask you assistance in these matters as well.
I sincerely hope I am not imposing on our short acquaintance by asking you these favors. I did so enjoy the time we spent together on my last trip. I look forward to seeing you soon.
Yours,
Lawrence Day
Mindy was delighted to learn Byron’s nephew was coming back to Coarse Gold. She had very much enjoyed his company, his thoughtful comments, and his stimulating conversation.
She had become a virtual recluse since the whole unhappy situation with Wade. The Gazette had become the entire focus of her life, and she knew that was not good. Even so, she was surprised at how glad she was to see Lawrence Day when he walked into the newspaper office the following week.
She had also forgotten how much he reminded her of Byron. Not so much in appearance, because Lawrence was actually a very handsome young man, but more in his mannerisms, the way he always seemed to give thoughtful consideration to his answers to questions, and most of all, how his smile and laugh were genuine and spontaneous.
Mindy walked with him to Byron’s cottage, which she had had cleaned and aired in preparation for his stay. “You are so kind, Miss McClaren, to make everything so comfortable and easy for me. But—” He glanced around the front room. “—I am at a loss as to what to do with all of this? I may need more of your help, look at all these books . . . I don’t suppose—Coarse Gold doesn’t have a lending library?” He shot a hopeful glance at Mindy who shook her head.
“No, I’m sorry it doesn’t. I’ve often thought someone should start one. I must confess I’ve sometimes come over here and borrowed a few of Byron’s. He was always urging his favorites on me.” “I can see I’ve my work cut out for me,” Lawrence said with a rueful smile. “But I can take the time on this trip. I plan to stay until I’ve accomplished what I’ve come to do.”
Mindy started to the door, “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. ”
“Oh, Miss McClaren, would you have dinner with me tonight . . . at the inestimable Mrs. Busby’s? I still yearn for more of her chicken and dumplings.”
“She’ll be thrilled to hear that, and yes, I would like to have dinner with you. Thank you.”
That evening was one of the most interesting, stimulating ones Mindy had had in months.
At dinner, their conversation turned to other things. Lawrence was very knowledgeable about many things, and Mindy realized that she was unaware of the progress of life outside this backwater town—for example, new trends in the newspaper publishing business.
“Newspapers back east are changing rapidly, making old methods obsolete. Have you heard of the linotype machine?” he asked Mindy.
“No, what is it?”
“It was invented by a man named Ottmar Mergenthaler. To operate it, a man sits in front of the machine and types out the copy. Then, at the end of each line, he pulls a level, and the entire line of type is cast in hot lead right then and there, and dropped into place. It saves having to set everything by hand.”
“But what about printers? Doesn’t that put printers out of a job?” She thought of Pete who was nearing sixty. Could he learn a new skill at his age if by some stretch of the imagination the Gazette could get one of these machines.
“Printers would welcome it, I should think. It would make their work much easier. More type set faster. It would improve the speed at which you could get a paper out. You’d be able to print more stories each issue, fill the paper with more advertising, make it more attractive.”
“I suppose they’re expensive.”
“They are now, but I’m certain the price will go down as soon as the demand increases. It would eventually pay for itself in saved time and more revenue from advertisers.”
“That sounds very exciting, but in a small town newspaper, I wonder if it would be cost effective?”
“Why not? The west is where everything will be happening in the next few years. A newspaper is the hub and heartbeat of a town. A town has a special relationship to its newspaper.” He smiled at Mindy. “And to its editor.”
“I worry about the older printers though,” Mindy said doubtfully. “It would be hard for them to learn a new trade.”
“For some, yes, but for others maybe not. And there will be young men coming up looking for a trade, something interesting, challenging. I believe trade schools will be established to teach how to use the linotype. It’s going to revolutionize newspaper printing.”
As their dinner of pot roast, vegetables, potatoes, and gravy was served, they talked of other things. Lawrence told Mindy he was looking forward to his task at his uncle’s house.
The evening ended with Lawrence seeing Mindy to her parlor door. They agreed to meet the next day when Mindy would take him to see Elton Lockman, the stone cutter.
Still stimulated by this evening of unusual and interesting companionship and conversation, Mindy found it hard to settle down. So instead of going directly to bed, she looked through some of her source books and her Bible, searching for just the right quotation for Byron’s epitaph. Of course, this would be subject to his nephew’s approval.
It was more difficult than she had imagined. Byron would have hated anything false—an expression of a piety he did not profess, a virtue he did not posses, a strength or quality he had not attained.
Finally, yawning, Mindy gave up her search. Perhaps Lawrence would discover something suitable. They could discuss it tomorrow or some other day while he was here.
They met as planned for breakfast where Mindy confessed her failure to find the perfect epitaph. “I’m sorry, Mr. Day, I haven’t yet found exactly the right one.”
“There’s no hurry. I have no pressing date to return home. I’m grateful for your allowing me to stay in Uncle Byron’s cottage. It’s true what people say that a house reflects its occupant’s personality and
character. I’m learning a great deal I never knew about my uncle. He loved the classics. He has many books about music and art.”
As they started out to walk to the stonecutter’s, Lawrence said, “May I ask you one more favor?”
“Of course.”
“Would you call me ‘Lawrence’? ‘Mr. Day’ sounds so formal.”
“Of course,” she smiled, “and since your uncle sometimes called me ‘McClaren’ and at other times ‘Mindy,’ I think the privilege could be extended to his nearest of kin.”
Lockman, the stonecutter, was a thin, wiry man with perennially stooped shoulders. His bald head, beard, and clothing were finely drifted with white stone dust. When Mindy introduced him to Lawrence, Lockman expressed his pleasure: “I liked your uncle. He had an eye for beauty. He used to come and look at my stones. Funny, he didn’t pick out one for himself.”
They wandered about the yard outside the small workshop, and Lockman showed them different varieties of stone and granite.
“How much you fixin’ to say on the headstone?”
Lawrence looked at Mindy. “We haven’t quite decided yet. How long does it usually take to carve an epitaph?”
“Depends on how much you want to say,” was the laconic reply.
“Naturally. I’ll give you his full name, date of birth, death, right away so you can get started, then as soon as we make that decision, we’ll let you know. I’d like to have it done and set in place before I go back east.”
Lawrence and Mindy had dinner together again that evening, and afterwards, Mindy invited Lawrence into her parlor so they could search through some of her books to find the right epitaph. For three successive evenings they repeated the same routine. After much exchange of ideas, much reading out loud to each other of quotations they found in their individual search, they finally decided on the choice of quotation for the headstone.
On Friday, after the paper was put to bed, they met and went out to the stonecutter’s again. Lawrence handed Lock-man the slip of paper on which the epitaph was printed, and they exchanged the possible dates for completing the carving. When Lawrence told Lockman he planned to leave by the end of the month, the stonecutter promised to begin it right away.
Mindy was startled at the sharp pang of regret she felt at the thought of Lawrence leaving. When he left she would probably never see him again. He had been such an interesting companion these last two weeks she knew it would be hard to be on her own again.
The day the stonecutter sent the message that the headstone was ready, they went together to see it. It had turned out beautifully. The pale gray granite was the perfect background for the words. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE, THOU CANST NOT THEN BE FALSE TO ANY MAN, followed by his name and the dates of his birth and death.
“He tried to live that, and he allowed other people that privilege as well,” Mindy said softly, recalling how many times Byron had turned her questions around saying, “Well, what do you think about that yourself?” He gave her credit for having some intelligence, even opinions that might be opposite to his own.
The next step was to arrange with the minister to dedicate the grave when the headstone was placed. Coincidentally, they met the Reverend Thompson on their way back to the newspaper office, and he said he’d be happy to conduct a graveside service the following Sunday afternoon. That was only three days away. After that, Mindy realized, Lawrence would probably have to go back east, and her life would seem empty again.
She would miss him terribly. Since Elyse Sinclair had left, Mindy had no one to really talk to until Lawrence had come. His intellect had sharpened her own. He brought up interesting subjects, widened her insights, opened her understanding about what was happening in the west. She realized there would be a void in her life when he left.
One thing that drew her to him was that he had so many of the same qualities she had admired in Byron—but none of the fatal flaws. Lawrence was a gentleman in every respect without being the least bit weak. He was knowledgeable without being dogmatic, consistent in his ideas without being opinionated, strong without being domineering. He was as ideal in character as anyone she had ever met. She felt unhappy that when he left Coarse Gold, she probably would never see him again.
On Friday the last week in September, Mindy sat at her desk pondering her life. The paper was published, and usually Mindy felt a deep sense of accomplishment—gratified that the Gazette had come out for another week, that somehow she had managed to pull it off once more.
But somehow, this Friday, Mindy was overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness and futility. Why? Didn’t she have what she wanted? Actually, more than she had ever imagined possible—a newspaper of her own. Hadn’t she been given the respect and recognition she had yearned for? Why, then, this feeling of emptiness?
Down deep she knew Lawrence’s pending departure depressed her. He had put it off for the logical excuse of his uncle’s memorial service. Now, that was over and still he had not made definite plans to leave.
Mindy couldn’t seem to settle down. She tried straightening the clutter on her desk but she mostly ended up holding a batch of papers uncertainly and staring into space.
Her thoughts were still in a muddle when the door opened, and Lawrence walked into the newsroom. It was as if her thoughts had somehow wished him here.
“Finished for the day? If you are, would you like to walk up to the cemetery with me? I’d like to pay my last respects to Uncle Byron.”
“Yes, I’d like that.” Mindy quickly scooped up the scattered papers, stuffed them into her wire IN basket, and snatched her bonnet and shawl off the coat tree. “Shall we go?”
When they started out it was still warm but there was a tinge of autumn in the air. The weather was cooler now in the mornings, and soon the days would grow shorter. The sky was a cloudless blue. As they mounted the hill to the graveyard, Mindy could hear meadowlarks singing. It was beautiful, yet it somehow made her feel melancholy.
At the crest, they turned to look back at the town. It was growing day by day. They could see the scaffolding of another set of buildings at the lower end of Main Street. More people arrived every week, and not just miners, but those who wanted to set up shop or open a business. The newspaper subscription list was also growing, and advertisers followed in a steady stream.
For all that this past year had brought, life in Coarse Gold had been good to her. Mindy felt that people respected her and liked her. She had found a place here. Why, then, was she conscious of a nagging unmet need? Why, after all she had done, was there still some intangible longing in her heart she could not even name? A sense of incompleteness, a yearning for something she could not quite define?
Wordlessly, they turned back and continued up the rise. When they were almost to the top Lawrence halted and looked at Mindy. “Maybe this isn’t the right time or place, but, Mindy, I have to ask you a question. I’m willing to accept whatever your answer is, and I apologize beforehand if I am stepping over the line in this.”
Suddenly Mindy felt a breathlessness she knew wasn’t due to the exertion of the climb.
“I want you to know that coming to know you has been one of the nicest things that has ever happened to me.” He smiled. “I came to Coarse Gold as a favor to my mother. To carry out her request about Uncle Byron’s grave.” He gestured toward the cemetery. “However, I’ve found something totally unexpected, something very valuable. Our friendship.”
Friendship. She considered his choice of words.
“At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. But, when I’ve been honest with myself, it is far more than that. What I have to say is that for me, it has gone beyond that.” He paused. “Mindy, I have come to care for you deeply.”
He waited, as if hoping for encouragement from her to go on. But Mindy only stared at him speechless. “If this, in any way, disturbs you, I’ll go no further.”
She shook her head.
He reached for her hand, held it up, examining it. Her hands were small
and square and capable. “I love you, Mindy.” His fingers circled the third finger of her left hand, “I’d like to place a wedding ring on this one.”
Mindy looked into his eyes that searched hers. His declaration was so unexpected she was at a loss. Was what she felt for Lawrence truly love or just the fear of loneliness? The loneliness that she dreaded would overtake her after he left? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure.
With her free hand she brushed back a stray strand of hair, and Lawrence took one of her hairpins that had come loose and replaced it. It was such a gently intimate gesture, Mindy felt her heart turn over.
He was regarding her with such tenderness. How could she answer? “To thine own self be true” came into Mindy’s mind. How many times Byron had quoted that to her. A dozen possibilities came into Mindy’s mind. Reasons to say yes, reasons to say no. Reasons that his next words strengthened.
“I would love to take you back to Pennsylvania with me. To meet my mother and see the house I built. I didn’t know it at the time but it was meant for you, Mindy. It has lots of windows, and it looks out on the woodland that stretches all the way to the river. You can see the falls from it, and on summer nights, when it is very quiet, you can hear the sound of it. Oh, Mindy, I know you’d love it.” He reached and took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Please say, you’ll come. You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll spend my life making you happy.”
Mindy’s throat tightened. She longed to say yes to him. He had all the qualities she could ever hope for in a man. And he loved her, was offering her his world to share.
But what about her world here in Coarse Gold? What would happen to the paper? Could she give up all she had worked so hard to achieve? If she followed the emotional desire of her heart for love, protection, and security, it would mean—leaving Colorado. Going back east to Lawrence’s hometown would mean a total change from the life she had here. What kind of life would that be? What would Lawrence expect of her? The traditional role of a supportive wife beside her husband?
