by Marian Wells
Quickly she yanked her collar straight, smoothed her hair, and scrubbed at the tears on her face. “Dear Lord, here I am, trying to make a good impression on all these gold miners and that Mrs. What’s-her-name is going to catch me crying like a baby. Bet she never missed her husband. But then, I’ll bet she didn’t marry him at eighteen.”
Amy waited at the door as the heavyset woman trudged up the path. “Morning, Missus Gerrett.” Those shrewd eyes sharpened and Amy knew they didn’t miss a thing; not her red eyes nor the messy trail of ash on the floor.
Amy concentrated on the woman’s hand, seeing the grubby knuckles and dark-edged nails as she slowly said, “Mrs. Withrop, I’ve been meaning to return your call all this past week.” She waved at the ash. “But I haven’t even finished my housework.”
“A body can’t be too busy with husband gone most of the time.” She sniffed, then added more kindly, “Seems the church could see fit to keep a preacher in one spot instead of trying to spread him around like butter scratched out so thin there ain’t no taste. I know it’s the way of the church, but I don’t approve.”
Amy walked back to the window to hide the tears in her eyes, but she answered briskly, “I’m glad someone besides me objects, but I don’t think it will make a speck of difference.” She turned with a forced smile. “Have you noticed the view from up here? I like having our cabin halfway up the side of the hill. This way we miss most the racket the miners make. But it seems we’re the first to know every time a chunk of gold is uncovered.”
“Racket? Think this is bad; wait’ll they get another stamp mill to goin’. A body gets to feelin’ like all his innards are jumpin’ when they smack that ore.”
The last of Amy’s tears had dried and she sighed with relief. As the scene in front of her caught her attention, she mused, “It’s a pretty color, even if it’s just tailings from the mines. All those piles of bright dirt spilling down to meet the green trees makes a nice picture.”
Mrs. Withrop chuckled and moved to the window. “A year ago when me and my man came into the gulch, I pretty near went crazy. I sez, ‘Hank, will you look at all the gold they’re wastin’!’ I was ready to unload the wagon right then and go to scooping up that dirt. Colored bright as gold and copper, it was. I figured it was the real stuff. Hank just laughed at me, sayin’, ‘Lettie, use yer head; if there’s gold in that, then they won’t be athrowing it away.’”
“They’ve taken a big share out of the mountains,” Amy said. “It’s been a good strike right from the beginning. Daniel says that’s why they named it California Gulch.” With a shake of her head, she added, “According to reports, some say the best days are over.”
Amy turned quickly to see the effects of her next words. “I’m of a mind to get a pick and do a little mining myself while Daniel’s gone. It sure tears at me sometimes, watching all the others haul out the gold ore. I’m wondering what’s under this cabin floor, hoping and wanting a hunk of it for myself.”
Mrs. Withrop’s eyebrows nearly met the frizzle of hair on her forehead. “Seems carnal for a preacher’s wife to be wantin’ gold.”
Amy sighed and moved away from the window. She thought of her dwindling supply of tea and slowly said, “Could I offer you a cup of tea?”
Lettie shook her head. “I came up to see if you wanted a ride into town, if’n you can call that sorry settlement at the mouth of the gulch a town. Hank needs to go after supplies fer the mine, and I’m of a mind to go along if I have some company. A decent woman feels outta place on the streets with all the fancy ladies.”
“Don’t suppose there’s goods to be had that are worth the trip,” Amy reflected aloud. “Right here in Oro City it seems the goods are better—cheaper too. Daniel says he heard they’re not expecting the settlement down there to amount to much. There’s nothing to it except a few cribs and boardinghouses mixed in with the saloons. Same as you see anywhere.”
She paused, then added, “At the rate they’re taking gold out up here, I suppose the miners will see they keep the businesses going down that way. Up here there’s not room to do much more building of anything. It’s such a narrow little gulch. The mines and diggings fill all the free space. Daniel said they named it Oro City because the gulch isn’t big enough to hold more’n a name that size.”
“Gets mighty lonesome, havin’ him gone so much.” It was a flat statement. Amy nodded.
Quickly she said, “Yes, I’d like to go down the hill with you, even if there’s nothing new to be seen. Are you ready to leave now?” Mrs. Withrop nodded and Amy went after her shawl. It was a new heavy one. Just a few short weeks ago, before they left Buckskin Joe, Daniel had insisted on buying it.
The memory made her choke again. She hesitated, wanting suddenly to be alone, to go back over those fearful and precious days in Buckskin Joe. Fearful? Shaking her head, her lips silently formed the word: Mother. She smiled to herself as she followed Lettie out the door.
They walked down the rocky trail to the roadway. Lettie pointed, “Hank’s turned the wagon around. Makes him uneasy, tryin’ to switch around on these narrow tracks. Might be my nerves agettin’ to him. Mind sittin’ on the gulch side?” Amy shook her head and crawled in after Lettie.
The narrow road the miners had hacked out wound down the side of the mountain. When Mr. Withrop guided his team close to the edge of the road, Amy could see the creek tumbling far below them. She exclaimed, “Look at the mine tailings! Since I last came this way, they’ve drifted down to the stream bed.”
Lettie nodded, adding, “And up ahead they’re sharing that torn-up bank with the sluice boxes.”
Just below Amy could see a miner bent over a cradle. She watched him yanking the handle back and forth as he scooped water and gravel into the hopper. Lettie nodded at the man. “Them diggings are pretty poor for him to be going through the dirt again.”
“He’s working close to the sluice box; I suppose he’s hoping they’ve missed some,” Amy said.
Hank mused slowly, “’Tis a bad sign when a fellow wastes his time picking over the rubble.” He hauled on the reins, pulling his team close to the mountainside. An empty ore cart came banging and clattering toward them over the rough road. They could hear the teamster shouting at his mules. In a moment he clattered by and Hank flicked the reins again.
Two miles farther down, the mouth of the gulch widened and the valley lay before them. While Lettie’s running comments kept pace with the clatter of the wagon, Amy nodded. Lettie’s voice disappeared into the back of her thoughts as she admired the wide mountain valley stretching out before them. With the changing season the landscape had become a quilt pattern of blue, green and winter brown.
The distant mountains seemed adrift in the early spring mist. She studied their rearing snowcapped peaks and shivered. Was Daniel somewhere in those snowy canyons? “Beg your pardon?”
Lettie was waving her arm for attention. “More cabins and shanties every time I come here. Hank, is that the supply place over behind the saloon? There’s wire and tools stacked up.”
He nodded and Lettie added, “Well then, you just drop the missus and me right here. We’ll walk up and down the street and look in the shops.” She nodded at Amy. “Wouldn’t hurt to check out the store. My, don’t them hams look good hangin’ there?” Amy turned away from the cold view of the mountains and followed Lettie out of the wagon.
The spring snows had left the pocked road landscaped in lakes and valleys. The two picked their way to the line of loose planks teetering across the mud puddles. “A rickety boardwalk for the customers,” Amy murmured, pulling her shawl tight against the bitter wind. Coming off the mountains the wind swirled down the street, rattling the clumsy shingles and banging loose shutters.
They started their walk down a street lined with shanties of milled lumber. The green cut lumber was already curling and gaping away from the supporting timbers. Amy said, “A poor place, isn’t it? Makes you feel poor yourself. Like life’s going downhill instead of up.�
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Lettie blinked and frowned. In a moment she nodded at an unpeeled log building, saying, “Shabby? Least they don’t look ready to blow away. There’s a new hotel, two-story. Guess that’s a good omen; means they’re expecting the place to grow. I ’spect they’re lookin’ for a fancy name to stick on it.”
Amy tilted her head to look up. “The hotel? There’re curtains at the windows on the top floor.”
“No, the settlement. Curtains? They’re lace. Uppity.”
As they faced into the wind to begin their walk down the street, the door to the hotel opened. A couple stepped onto the boardwalk in front of them and started down the street. As Amy bent her head against the wind, she saw the man pull the woman’s arm through his. Gentleman, Amy thought, eyeing the man’s white broadcloth suit. She studied the tall white hat he wore and frowned.
Why does that white hat seem familiar? Is there someone in Colorado Territory I know with a hat like that?
Abruptly the woman laughed and tilted her head toward the gentleman. Her voice seemed low and teasing as she made her reply. Amy had turned to follow Lettie into a shop, but she hesitated long enough to glance at the couple. The woman’s face was hidden, but the laughing sentence she threw at the man caught Amy’s attention.
“What’s she saying?” Lettie whispered. “Sounds foreign.”
“It is,” Amy murmured, glancing at Lettie. “And it caught me by surprise. I have no idea what she’s saying.”
“Well, come on.” Lettie tugged at her arm. “Hank won’t want to wait on us, and we haven’t started looking yet.”
Amy and Mrs. Withrop wandered through the general store, studying the picks and shovels hanging from the rafters next to the hams. Before moving on to the housewares, they admired the shiny stacks of tins containing peaches, imported marmalade, and fancy tea biscuits from England. They found a bundle of lace, but there was not a bolt of unbleached muslin in the store.
Lettie fingered the mirrors and ribbons, saying, “Get the idea they didn’t stock the goods with housewives in mind.”
When Amy turned away from the jumble of tin buckets, she saw the other woman in the store. There was an amused smile on her face as she listened to Lettie. Giving her another quick glance, Amy moved close to the woman.
“Oh, I know you!” Amy studied the pert face under the plumed bonnet. It was the tawny skin that attracted Amy’s attention and confirmed her guess. “You’re Crystal Thomas. I’m surprised to see you here.”
As Amy spoke, her mind began to record the differences. The woman was beautifully dressed. Her face seemed serene and confident. Most certainly, she no longer resembled the cook who had worked for Augusta Tabor. Even her speech seemed different. Feeling poor and shabby in her cotton frock, Amy began wondering about the changes she saw in the woman.
Crystal caught her eye; her gentle smile seemed to mock Amy as she turned away to finger the pile of lace. “I’ve torn my petticoat. No, my dear, I no longer work for Augusta. See, I guessed your question. The plain-bones life of a kitchen grub wasn’t to my liking.”
The words slipped out before Amy could stop them, “You’re so different. I’m sorry, that was rude. Aunt Maude would die if she heard me.” Wistfully she added, “It would be nice to see you in church.”
Amy studied the golden velvet cloak and the plumed hat. Crystal’s eyes met hers again. For just a moment Amy saw a hint of uncertainty there, but there was something else, a dark shadow. It was a shadow that pulled sympathy out of Amy before she had time to think. She stretched her hand toward the woman, but Crystal straightened her shoulders and said, “Might say I’ve changed my habits a little. Just don’t seem to find time.
“I’d heard the preacher acquired a wife; didn’t guess it was you.” She backed away and fluttered her hand. “Might see you around. Please don’t give my regards to Father Dyer. I can’t take his brand of reproach.” She hesitated and then swirled out the door. Amy looked after her, wondering about the hesitation and the lonely expression in her eyes.
Bemused by this new Crystal, the memory of the last time she had seen the beautiful woman with skin the color of Augusta’s cream-filled coffee caught at Amy’s thoughts. It had been at Lizzie’s funeral. And as Father Dyer quoted Scripture, Crystal’s lips had moved silently, following the words while her face glowed. Amy whispered the words that were read that snowy, miserable afternoon: “‘I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’”
Obviously Crystal’s face didn’t reflect those thoughts now. Amy shivered.
“Ya took a chill?” Lettie was asking, bringing Amy back to the present.
“I suppose it’s just thinking. Sometimes you get to depend on someone—something. And it fails.” She looked at Lettie and tried to explain, “It’s like a board in a bridge giving way. Makes it scary to walk across the bridge, thinking what if one breaks under you.”
Lettie blinked and said, “Hank’s awaiting on us.”
****
When Crystal Thomas walked out of the store, the wind caught at her cloak. She ducked her head and hurried toward the hotel. The wind whistled down the street and moaned around the buildings. Crystal shivered. In this strange place of shacks and log buildings as dreary as the wounded hillsides surrounding the mining camp, her isolation seemed more real than the old velvet cloak around her shoulders.
In the hotel lobby she looked at the round iron stove and the line of benches bordering it. As cold as she knew her room would be, it was preferable to the company of the men huddled around the stove, eying every movement she made.
She started toward the stairs. “Mrs. Thomas. Here’s a note for you.” It was from Lucas Tristram. So he would see her at dinner. With a sigh of relief, Crystal hurried to her room.
When she closed the door behind herself and leaned against it, she slowly murmured aloud, “So you don’t like the room? So it leaks cold air like a sieve, and the little stove barely melts ice. Crystal Thomas, you got yourself into this. Curiosity as usual. Now decide for yourself. Is Tristram’s proposition worth the risk? You be his lackey, and he’ll help you find your husband. Or at least that’s what he says he will do. Have you ever known him to keep a promise? He played you false last time. Do you really trust him?”
Crystal shivered and pushed her cold hands against her face. “The question is, do I really want to see my husband again?”
But that was foolish. She reminded herself, “Why else are you here?” Crystal slowly hung her cloak and pulled out the warm dressing gown. She was still mulling over the events that had dropped her back into Lucas’s life as she poked wood into the little sheet-metal stove.
Rubbing her hands briskly together, she wandered restlessly around the room. The scrap of lace was on the bed. Looking at it she murmured, “Might as well get this petticoat repaired now. Who knows when I’ll find time again.”
The wind was lifting to a howl, causing the log hotel to creak under its onslaught. “At least I don’t need to share the common room with the other women,” she said, thinking of the drafty room under the eaves where she had spent her first night in Oro City.
Crystal pulled out her sewing kit and found scissors and thread. Placing them on the chair beside the stove, she unbuttoned her frock. “Oh, terrible,” she murmured with a shiver. “I’ll be grateful for spring. Undressing long enough to do my mending is misery.”
She had hung her frock and was pulling off the petticoat when she heard the door creak. With a gasp of surprise, she whirled around.
The man stepped inside and closed the door. “Lucas! I’m dressing.”
“I noticed. And it’s the loveliest sight I’ve seen for a long time. Don’t let me disturb you. After all, if we’re going to have all this time together, you’d better get accustomed to my popping in and out.”
Crystal gasped and reached for her dressing gown. “I refuse to have you here. Please leave.”
He grinned as he watched her pull the rob
e in front of herself. “Lovely. I didn’t remember. But I’ve always liked skin that color. Creole, aren’t you? But a little dark.”
“You know very well, Lucas. And I remember the last time this happened. How carefully designed it was! Bursting into my bedroom just as my husband came up the stairs. You had only enough time to remove your waistcoat while I stood there like a ninny in my pantaloons.”
Her voice hardened as she said, “After months of pressure, it was that incident that finally broke my husband’s resistance. How much were you paid for him? You might as well confess; you and I both know how desperately the South needs every man, every dollar.”
The smile was still mocking, but the light in his eyes cut through her anger and left her trembling. “Get out—now, or I’ll scream!”
“And you think that would bring someone to your aid? Crystal, you are very mistaken.” He reached for the robe. As she turned to scream, he struck her across the mouth.
Chapter 6
The spring dusk had begun to paint a misty pink across the sky when Hank stopped the wagon in the lane leading up to the lonely cabin. Slowly Amy slipped down to the ground. “Thanks. It helped the day to pass.”
“Could be the parson’s back,” Hank said. “Seems I see his horse.”
Amy stretched to tiptoes. “Yes!” Her voice broke as she turned to run. Bursting into the cabin, she paused. Daniel was on his knees in front of the little stove, shoving wood into the crackling fire.
“Oh, Daniel!” He caught her up close, but not before she saw the melancholy lines on his face. She whispered, “You’ve missed me as badly as I’ve missed you.” It wasn’t a question; it was confirmation of her own feelings. Slowly she touched his face and burst into tears.
Pulling a bench forward, Daniel gathered Amy close to him. “You’re cold. Where have you been?”
