by Marian Wells
Walking slowly, still lost in thought, she was only vaguely aware of the growing cold and increasing snow. When she heard the wagon rattling up the hill, her feet were too numb to obey the command to hurry.
Stumbling to the side of the road, she heard the shout and curse from the driver. She also heard another voice pitched to a gentler tone.
The wagon stopped. A man jumped down and came quickly to her side. “The snow’s getting bad. If you’re going up the hill, we’ll give you a ride.” The man added, “This is dangerous; in another few minutes you’ll not be able to see the edge of the road.”
Bewildered, Amy hesitated and looked around. The snow was falling like lacy saucers, tilting, drifting, and swirling in the wind. The man took her arm and led her to the wagon.
“Home, yes. And I’ll be grateful,” she said with a shiver. “It isn’t far. It’s the parson’s cabin.”
The man bent over her. “Amy Randolph. I thought there was something familiar—”
She pushed back the shawl and rubbed melted snowflakes out of her eyes. “Lucas Tristram,” she said slowly. “Colorado Territory is a small place, after all. Have your mining interests taken you this far afield?”
“Certainly,” he said with a laugh. “Did you expect me to grub gold in Central City all of my life? But the most astounding thing is to find you here. I declare, has the parson gone off and left you to your devices again? I can’t believe he has any real appreciation of the fairest of the ladies.” His voice was mocking and Amy studied his face. That twist to his smile hinted of bitterness. He was still angry with her.
The cursing driver spoke, and his voice made Amy more uneasy. “Ah, Lucas, so you know the lady. Church, huh? It is a shame you’ve neglected your duties since you’ve been in the lovely city of Oro. Ma’am, you need to stir up your husband to make a call on this parishioner. He should be good for a generous donation, if nothing else!” The man laughed heartily, and Amy and Lucas continued to study each other. Unexpectedly Lucas’s expression softened, catching Amy off guard at the moment she had been trying to remember what it was that first attracted her to this man.
Speaking thoughtfully, with his face still close to hers, Lucas said, “You’re right, Mac. I do need to remember my church.”
In a small voice, Amy said, “Here’s the cabin. Just let me off at the path.”
“I’ll walk with you to the door.” Lucas lifted her down, swinging her clear of the icy mud puddle.
He followed her into the cabin and looked around. It was easy to guess he was comparing his house with this. There was a confident, amused expression on his face.
“My dear.” He bent over her hand while she resisted the impulse to snatch it back. “I can’t forget the wonderful time we had together, and of your generosity to a lonely bachelor. If I am restrained from expressing my gratitude to you, then surely I will be allowed to give a gift to the church?”
Thinking of the poor, shabby building they called church, Amy gasped, “Oh, Lucas, you are kind! Most surely! Anything you do for this church will be deeply appreciated.”
With another bow, and words Amy didn’t hear, Lucas left. Amy was musing, Gift. There was a wry smile on her face as she thought of the multitude of things the small church could use.
By morning the snow had transformed the trees and mining camp into a rolling mass of whiteness. Amy had only begun to worry about Daniel when she heard the knock and the shout.
When she reached the door, Father Dyer was leaning his snowshoes against the cabin. “Come in; Daniel’s gone to Twin Lakes.”
“I know. Met him on the trail yesterday. Don’t happen to have the coffeepot on, do you?”
“Come have some. I suppose you’re headed up to that old, cold cabin.”
He shed his coat. “It’s as snug as yours. Did Daniel tell you that your father’s going to New Mexico?” She nodded and went to pull the frying pan over the fire. He continued. “After you two left, I kept them around for a few days while we talked over the situation.”
“Daniel said you had. Was it about Father’s church—”
He shook his head. “I’m talking about New Mexico. I’ve been wanting to go back to the territory for a year now. Can’t get the people off my mind. Never have seen a race of people so beat down.”
“Race?”
“Mostly Spanish folks down that way. A few Anglos and lots of Indians, too. The people up from Mexico are an oppressed bunch. Little children needing lots of attention, schooling. Sad-eyed little ones.” He continued musing aloud.
Amy carried the plate to the table and brought the coffeepot. “Eggs! I’d forgotten what they look like. I hope you’re taking good care of those egg machines. Mighty cold for critters.”
After Father Dyer finished his meal, he leaned back and said, “I’ve a gift for you, and I’ll sing for my supper.” Fumbling in his pack, he pulled out a small dirty object and placed it before her.
She touched the blackened side and exclaimed, “A crucible! Do you think I should be digging for gold?”
He chuckled, “To the contrary. I’ve done my share of digging, and I thought this would serve to remind you of my recent success. See, the speck there in the bottom—that’s the record of my last assay.”
Amy said, “It looks like a tiny dot of gold.”
“It is. Collected it up Blue River way. Had a sack of rich-looking ore which nearly broke my back totin’ it to Fairplay. How do you like the assayer’s report? The fella gave me the cup to remember him by.” Dyer chuckled. “After this, I don’t think he expects me to come back.”
While Amy rubbed her fingers over the smoky surface, Father Dyer spoke again. “Kinda reminded me of a hymn and I want to sing it for you.” Amy nodded as she continued to pick at the gold in the bottom of the cupel. Giving Father Dyer a quick grin as he tilted his head to bellow out the words, she continued to examine the gold.
When he reached the fourth verse, Father Dyer’s voice dropped and gentled. Slowly Amy placed the crucible on the table and faced Father Dyer as he sang, “…my grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply. The flames shall not hurt thee; I only design thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.”
When he sat down and picked up the last piece of bread, Amy said, “I’m not certain, but I think you’re trying to tell me something.”
“Just keep it and look at it every once in a while. Maybe it’ll preach a better sermon than I ever did.” He stood up and reached for his coat.
“I’m not faulting you, Amy. Could be it was the Lord who made me think of you when the fella gave me the crucible. For what reason, I don’t know. It’s certain, a high-spirited gal like you will have some adjusting to the circuit-riding pace.”
Amy watched as he headed out the door. After he was gone, she stood there for several minutes, fingering the tiny crucible. The sides of the cup were blackened with ash and dirt, but in the bottom the speck of gold glowed.
Chapter 7
“So this is the town of Twin Lakes!” Amelia Randolph exclaimed. Turning to her husband she added, “I wish there were time to see the lakes before we begin our trip to New Mexico.”
Eli pulled her hand through his arm. “Might be when we come back. Watch your step—you nearly walked in front of that wagon.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, glancing up at the man beside her. She measured the years in Eli’s dignified gray hair and stern face; she saw only occasional brief glimpses of the young man he had been. He was still a stranger. She murmured, “Less than a month we’ve been together. How do we bridge the gap?”
“What did you say?”
“Just thinking out loud. About us. Sometimes I think I know you. But it’s been so long. Eli, am I a stranger to you, too?”
He hesitated, “Would it be better if I said yes? It is nearly like a resurrection. Of ways of thinking, and talking. Sometimes you say words that are so familiar that the years nearly disappear. Like my name. You stretch out the sound in a way no one else has eve
r done.”
They walked in silence until she asked, “Father Dyer seemed to side with you on leaving the church right now. Are you really content with that decision?”
He was studying her from the corners of his eyes. There was a slight frown on his face as he said, “Amelia, I’m getting close to the age when they start sticking old preachers on the shelf.”
“It’s odd,” she murmured, “that this should line up with the time you decided to rescue me.”
“Do I detect a hint of bitterness today? My dear, if you’re looking for reassurance, you have it. I haven’t changed my mind. I still want you back, and you’d best settle into the rut and stop fussing over it.”
“Like an old hen.” As Amelia said the words, she realized they lacked the humor she expected them to have.
“Pardon,” the woman stepped in front of them and turned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off.” She bobbed her head and rushed down the street.
Amelia stood speechless and Eli tugged at her arm. Glancing at him, she said softly, “Oh, Eli, sometimes this is hard. I know that woman and she didn’t recognize me.”
Slowly Amelia touched her scarred face. Eli pulled her close, “My dear, she scarcely gave you a glance. Now, I need to go to the livery stable and see about a new harness. Do you want to come?”
Amelia had been watching as the woman walked down the street and entered the hotel. She turned to Eli and said, “I treated that woman badly the last time I saw her. Now the Lord reminds me I need to apologize.”
“Then go before it becomes an impossible burden. I’ll meet you later at the wagon.” Amelia nodded and hurried after the woman.
At the desk she asked, “Will you tell me where I can find Mrs. Thomas?”
The clerk nodded and said, “She’s in her room. Second floor, number twenty.”
When the door was pulled open in answer to Amelia’s knock, the woman said, “I beg your pardon.”
“Crystal Thomas, you don’t recognize me. It’s Amelia.”
Crystal’s hand went to her mouth and she murmured, “Dear Lord, have mercy. I hear Amelia but—” First she looked at the tight wad of hair and then the scars.
Amelia stepped into the room and closed the door. Her voice trembled as she said, “You were one of the fortunate ones.”
“The smallpox got you. Oh, Amelia, I am so sorry. Please come sit here with me. I see this means it’s all over.” Her eyes met Amelia’s and slipped away. “May I give you some money. I know you must be—”
“Destitute because I can no longer sell my beauty? Crystal, I am not destitute. If I were so inclined, I could have maintained the boardinghouse. But you see, my husband has found me and now we are back together.”
“My dear, I am happy for you.” The words were stilted.
Amelia reached out to touch the tawny hand. “Your voice gives you away. Crystal, I want to tell you about it. You’ve known me long enough to guess going back to my husband was impossible. In Pennsylvania I made certain you understood that.
“Impossible,” she mused. “But the Lord is gracious. I know you left Buckskin Joe with the Tabors, before the epidemic was bad. I didn’t. When I finally recovered and saw myself in the mirror, I nearly wished myself dead.”
“I read the newspapers. You were something of a hero. They said you stayed to nurse the men when all the other women fled.” She paused. “You said you nearly wished to die?” Amelia could see the pity in Crystal’s eyes.
Amelia considered the question and lifted helpless hands; how could she explain the agony behind the words? She stated flatly, “I wasn’t ready to meet God. Crystal, you know I’d thrown out all my beliefs. It was impossible to believe God would forgive my sins when I just kept on disobeying Him. You know how I lived before and after Pennsylvania. I know you were simply too good a friend to throw me over. But that was what I deserved.”
Slowly Crystal said, “I remember the two of us struggled through some very uncomfortable times in Pennsylvania.”
“Yes, we did. I remember how you tried to convince me that all the good I was doing in the movement was an attempt to appease God. You said all my righteousness was self-made and that it was filthy rags in God’s eyes.”
“You were very angry.” Crystal added, “But at the same time I was hardheaded, confident I would never fall into sin the way you did. Now—” She stopped and looked down at her hands.
Amelia touched Crystal’s folded hands as she hurried on, the words spilling over each other. “Now I’ve come to apologize. Crystal, it was partly our quarrel in Pennsylvania that made me turn you away in Buckskin Joe when you came looking for a job. I could have made room for you at the house, but I couldn’t face all the things you stood for.”
Crystal looked up, puzzled, as Amelia explained. “Your shiny face singing hymns in my kitchen was just more than I could tolerate.”
Amelia tried to force a smile, but found herself blinking at tears. Hastily she said, “I’m not trying to justify my actions. I only want your forgiveness, even though I don’t deserve it.”
“Of course you have it.” Crystal’s voice was flat. She got up and moved restlessly around the room.
Amelia watched her for a moment before saying, “Crystal, I’ve been running on about myself. Now I see you’re having troubles too. Is there anything I can do for you?”
The Creole woman turned quickly. “I don’t suppose so.” Her smile was bitter as she straightened her shoulders and said, “Your confession reminds me of how far I’ve slipped from the tender mercies of the Lord.”
The mocking words caught Amelia. Looking more closely at Crystal, she asked gently, “Would it help to talk?” The woman shrugged. Amelia pressed, “I remember you and your husband were having serious problems when he left Pennsylvania. When you came to Buckskin looking for a job, I was still too angry and selfish to ask about that time.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Crystal said dully. There was silence while Amelia tried to recall those final days in Pennsylvania. Crystal took a quick step and squared her shoulders. “Amelia, you might as well know. I’ve sold my soul in an attempt to find out where he is. Isn’t that ironic? Now my pride has me down to groveling in the dirt because I want—wanted him so badly.”
She turned away, adding, “Of course, all of that is beyond consideration now.”
“What do you mean?”
Amelia watched Crystal’s agitated pacing until the woman pressed her hands to her cheeks and looked at Amelia. “Do you remember Lucas Tristram?”
Amelia frowned with the effort to recall those days. “The gentleman your husband knew at Harvard? And isn’t he the fellow who came to Pennsylvania? How did he know you were there?”
Crystal shook her head. Amelia continued. “I remember he spent a great deal of time trying to talk your husband into leaving the Underground Railroad. We all laughed. We were all so confident it would never happen.”
Bitterly Crystal said, “Of course you laughed. No one thought he would want to leave. But the talk of the South seceding from the Union got his attention. Then Tristram used home and family and deep southern loyalties like a knife.” She turned away. “Even wives are expendable. Especially this kind of wife.”
Looking at Crystal’s rigid back, Amelia pushed tentatively for more information. “I remember hearing rumors of some big problem between the two of you. We dared not ask, because obviously you were crushed by his leaving.”
“You mean you hadn’t heard that he caught me in adultery?”
“Crystal! Not a one of us believed it enough to give you the pain of our questions.”
Crystal took a deep breath and asked, “Did you also know that Lucas Tristram discovered that the slave from Louisiana, the man I took to Pennsylvania, was my father?”
“Benjamin was your father?” Amelia steadied her voice and said, “Crystal, we all knew that you had brought him to Pennsylvania. I suppose we should have wondered why.”
Crystal’s words
cut in. “At first it was his desire to keep our relationship hidden. I agreed, not foreseeing a reason to regret that decision. How I wish it could have been otherwise!”
When she saw Crystal’s agonized face, Amelia touched her and asked, “But what could Lucas do with that information?”
Crystal wandered restlessly around the room. “Amelia, it was my fault. I was a fool to think the story could be hidden. See, my husband didn’t know.”
“My dear,” Amelia whispered, “now I understand. Please, don’t hold it against him. He’s too fine a man to allow this to ruin your marriage.”
Crystal was shaking her head as she said, “Love does strange things to people sometimes. My husband knew I was Creole. I left it at that, simply because I loved him too much to risk telling him any more of my story. I refused to consider the consequences of my actions. See, his family is from Mississippi, and he’s heir to a cotton plantation. Of course you know it takes slaves to run a plantation.”
“Crystal! Are you forgetting your husband was involved in helping free the slaves? I watched him and Duncan stealing in with their boat loaded with slaves. They risked their lives for those people.”
Crystal nodded, musing, “And he was terribly caught up in the cause. He is a compassionate man and he cared deeply about those people. I think he would have given his life for them if it had been necessary.”
She straightened and looked at Amelia. “Don’t forget, he’s also southern. I’m from the South and I know what it’s like to be twisted by these strong, strong loyalties. He deeply loved his home and family. If you remember, while we were in Pennsylvania the talk of war had started. Amelia, you know yourself that we listened to some of the abolitionists say the only solution was to split the Union.
“With rumors like that going around, for my husband to consider cutting the relationship with his family was a kind of death. I could understand that.” She added, “Did you know that he and his sister were caught in a childish lark when they were swept into the movement? They hadn’t intended to be part of it all.”
