by Marian Wells
The man was watching him. “Ever’thing all right?”
“I guess this is the place,” Daniel said slowly, still trying to think his way through the muddle of facts.
“Guess we’d better be on our way. That crate is big enough to make a chicken coop. Might as well get some good out of it all.”
Daniel carried in wood and built a fire. While the cabin was warming, he dug around, trying to find something to eat. “Beans, cornmeal, a can of peaches. Mighty poor pickin’s for a man who owns a bright, shiny new piano. At least his wife does, a gift from an old beau.”
All the implications behind the gift of the instrument began to build up in his mind. Looking at the flour and lard in his hands, he guessed he wouldn’t be able to swallow a flapjack.
There was a tap on the door and he went to jerk it open. “Mrs. Withrop—come in.” She did. Still holding the bundle she carried, Lettie slowly walked around the piano. The questions were big in her eyes as she faced Daniel.
“The Missus not back yet?”
“She’s with her ma and pa.”
She nodded her head in the direction of the piano. “Sure beats all. Guess it’s a good thing I took it upon myself to bring you some fresh bread and eggs from your own chicks. I’ll have Hank bring over the chickens tomorrow.”
“No,” Daniel said hastily. “Just keep them and use the eggs. I’ll come after them later. It’s getting close to conference time, so there’s a trip to Denver—”
Lettie nodded happily. “Glad to oblige. When will the Missus be back?”
“I don’t know. Her father’s had an accident. That’s one of the reasons we’ve been gone so long. When did Father Dyer leave?”
“Afore the last snow. About two weeks now. He’s going over to Mosquito for a time. But he said he’d be back shortly.” Nodding her head, Lettie started for the door.
The questions were still big in her eyes. Daniel watched her hurry down the slope, glancing behind just once as she passed her own turnoff and moved down the hill to the neighbor’s house.
Finally he shrugged and turned to face the piano. Even in the dim light, the dark shiny piano gleamed. “Well, I didn’t answer the questions she didn’t ask. Guess I’ll have to leave that to Amy. I reckon Mrs. Withrop won’t be the only one with a question. Might say, dear wife, I’ll have a few of my own.”
Chapter 23
Since dawn Amy had been aware of the voices, the shuffle of feet along the street. When her father hobbled across the room and tried to slip quietly out the door, dust wafted into the hut.
Amy sat up and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. She saw her mother watching from her bed. Amy managed a wan smile. “Good morning.”
“Feeling better today?”
Amy nodded. “Except for thinking—” Looking up she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes.
Amelia got to her feet. Briskly she moved across the room as she tied her apron. “Come. A full stomach makes it easier to live with the beginning months.”
Eli came into the hut just as Amelia remarked, “I don’t remember when I’ve been so excited about a baby.”
Eli stood in the doorway for a moment. The sparkle in his eyes dimmed. Heavily he said, “Well, it’s a good thing. One thing about a baby, it takes precedence. Over everything and everyone.”
Amelia raised her head. There was a stillness on her face that caught at Amy. She turned to look at her father, but he was giving all his attention to the porridge in front of him. Slowly Amelia sat down.
Amy could feel her pain. She wanted to ask, Is that what happened? Are you saying all the honeymoon feeling is over once there is a baby?
Even as she was making up her mind it must not be so between them, she remembered. Daniel was gone. Maybe forever.
Amelia glanced at Amy. “Eat your breakfast; remember you’re eating for two now.”
After breakfast Eli patted her hand and beamed. “Now, let’s get out on the street.”
“Why?”
“The Penitentes. That’s the commotion we’ve been hearing out there. They’re coming from all directions.”
Amelia shook the towel and asked, “You mean the people who act out the crucifixion?”
Father nodded. “There are hordes of people on the streets. I’m guessing they’ve come from all the little settlements around here.”
Amy and Amelia followed him out the door. Looking over the village, they could see the people beginning to form lines along the road. The excited chatter Amy had heard earlier was now a gentle murmur.
To the north and east, a cloud of dust was rising from the trails leading into the village. “Let’s walk toward the trading post,” Amelia murmured. “I can’t understand why there is so much dust.”
Father replied, “It’s the crosses many of the people are dragging. Let’s start now; I can’t move fast on these things.”
Amelia led the way toward the trading post. Amy trailed behind, sharply aware of the oppressive mood of the village. To her father she murmured, “It’s as if there’s such sadness in the air, and everyone has caught it.”
Before they reached the trading post, the first of the Penitentes made their appearance, coming slowly down the road toward the village. A movement in the crowd at the side of the road caught Amy’s attention. She saw Matthew in the middle of the crowd.
He looked around and then made his way down the street toward them. Speaking softly when he reached them, he said, “Don’t go any farther. Let’s stand over here under the trees. I’m thinking we’ll intrude if we try to become part of the ceremony.”
Looking around, Amy tried to identify the low murmuring sound she was hearing. It seemed to be moving through the people on the street and keeping pace with the approach of the dust cloud. She felt the rhythm of a chant as she backed into the shade of the tree and closed her eyes against the glare of intense sunlight.
In the murmuring music of the Spanish language, there was nothing that she could understand; but the emotion was clear—deep grief. As she listened her own emotions swept up in response.
When her father breathed, “There!” she opened her eyes.
The man was nearly in front of her. He moved slowly, perspiration streaming off his naked shoulders. Immediately Amy’s attention went to the heavy cross laid across his shoulders. She could see the muscles on his neck and shoulders bunch in agony while the perspiration poured down his face. So that’s what it was like!
At the crack of a whip she turned to see a dark-clad figure advancing. When he stood just behind the cross, the whip snapped again. Amy winced and closed her eyes as the man flinched and staggered.
Beside her Amelia’s voice was full of horror as she said, “His back! It’s bleeding.” Amy turned to her mother as Amelia moved and Eli’s hand dropped to her shoulder.
“Let it be. Amelia, we’ve no right to interfere.”
Amelia looked up at him, and Amy saw his arm slide around her shoulders. For a moment his lips trembled. He was murmuring and Amy strained to hear as he said, “That part of you hasn’t changed, has it? The need to help, to make everything all right.”
She was still looking into his face. Amy saw her mother’s tears as he pulled her close.
Amy turned back to the crowd and found Matthew there beside her, saying, “Ma’am, Amy, I’d give my soul to bring him here right now.”
“Matt,” Amy choked, “don’t say such things! God himself would never take the trade.”
“I—sorry. I suppose it’s just an expression. But I do want to do what I can. Believe me, as soon as I can get a horse under me, I’ll start looking.”
Eli moved closer and touched their arms. “The people. Everyone seems to be headed toward the church. Coming?”
When Matthew and Amy looked, Amelia was standing with her back to them. Her shoulders sagged as she watched the people on the street. Amy went to walk with her mother, and Amelia grasped her arm. Her voice was full of a strange urgency as she murmured, “Amy, look. Do you f
eel—”
In front of her the crowd of people had begun to walk slowly down the street. The strange heaviness of their mood swept over Amy, and she clung to her mother’s arm.
As they watched, the sea of dark heads bowed. The people swayed forward, and the low murmur rose. When the crowd reached the end of the street, the murmuring had became a chant full of pathos.
Amy gasped and stopped. One by one the crowd swayed and fell into the dust of the street. Amelia’s arm tightened around Amy. Transfixed by the mystery of it all, they watched the people crawling toward the church. Their tears had dampened the dust on their faces.
When the last one had dropped to his knees, Amy shivered and rubbed her chilled arms. She glanced up at the sky. It seems fitting that the black clouds are rolling in and the wind is beginning to swirl dust around them.
Eli spoke. “Let’s go before the rain begins.”
Amelia looked dazed and Amy took her arm. “Please,” she pleaded with her father, not knowing what else to say.
Amelia stirred, then nodding at Eli and Matthew, she said, “You go. Both of you. We’ll walk down there. To the church.”
Matthew and Eli left. Amy and Amelia watched them and then Amelia murmured, “There.”
Amy turned to look toward the church. The chanting was rising to an agonizing plea. Slowly, painfully, the people were crawling into the church.
There was a strange catch in Amelia’s voice as she said, “I think I know how they feel. Love. That’s what I’m like on the inside, and I don’t know how to say it. It’s a love too big for anything except crawling on your face.”
Amy nodded without understanding; she couldn’t feel the emotion, but she knew the rightness of the act. Silently they continued to watch, but Amy’s heart was being stripped to its painful core. Daniel. The tears flowed down her face as she murmured, “Yes, Lord, even Daniel. I left him once; now, needing him so much, I must surrender him to you. How can I refuse?”
They continued to stand outside the church. One pilgrim after another entered. Soon the chanting diminished, ceased.
Total silence held the village. Suspended, Amy waited, holding her breath.
Abruptly sound came from the church. It seemed to be a thump followed by a heavy clashing of metal. Shivering, Amy stepped back and collided with the person behind her.
It was Bill from the trading post. His face was troubled and pale. He looked down at her with a shadow of a smile, saying, “Awesome, huh? Chains. Signals Christ going into hell. The noise? Chains are being broken. He’s free. Now watch the faces.”
The people began to come out of the adobe church. Dust still streaked clothing and faces alike. But on the faces there was a subtle difference. The afternoon had left a mark, a reminder that was reflected on the face of each person.
Bill said, “Now for another year, they are stamped with the sign of Holy Week. They won’t forget it. They still sin, but there’s hope.” He turned away with a sigh. “Must be nice to have confidence like that. To be able to believe in a ritual.”
On their way back to the hut, Amelia looked at Amy and said, “You have big questions in your eyes. Are you thinking about what Bill said? Well, it isn’t just ritual for some of them. It’s something more important. I’ve sensed it, but I don’t totally understand. In some way they are aligning themselves with God.”
“But it isn’t the way we find God,” Amy replied.
“That’s true, and it’s frightening to see such earnestness.”
“Why frightening?”
“Because salvation depends on faith—our willingness to trust God.” Amelia paused, looked at Amy and went on. “Amy, back there, during the smallpox, I saw my old friends reduced to pleading and then cursing God. They were the strong ones, the gay, carefree ones. And they were no longer strong or happy. They were face to face with God, and they didn’t have a hope.
“For the first time I accepted the fact that I must someday face God. It was then I saw all the glory of my life recede into shame, even my good deeds. I had nothing. I knew I would never win an audience with Him.
“These people. I can understand their crawling in the dust. I wanted to do it, too. Even when we won’t admit it, there’s a big need inside us to reach out and touch God. I can say I’ve seen the agony of a person who’s never been told the real way to touch God.”
Amy looked up at her mother. Studying every line of her scarred, tear-stained face, Amy knew she was seeing deep into her heart.
They linked hands and walked back to the hut, each absorbed in her own thoughts. The woman, Maria, was there. She had washed her face and it was serene. She explained. “It is our way. By this we say to God more than we can say to the priest.” As she turned away, she added, “Pain? It makes us feel good.”
Amelia faced Amy, saying quietly, “Now I am beginning to see why Eli feels this way about the town. Oh, Amy, these poor people!”
She went into the hut, but Amy lingered on in the courtyard. Leaning her arms on the low adobe wall, she thought about the day. The wind still tore at her hair, but the clouds were passing over.
Matthew came out and started down the street. She saw his face was troubled. With a sigh she stirred herself and called out, “Matt, did you let Mother change your bandage?”
He came to the wall. “The wound seems to be pretty well healed. No more bleeding, and it’s scarring over.” He studied her as if he wanted to say more.
She nodded at the clouds. “Guess no rain for us. Did you and Father have a nice talk?” He nodded, but his face was guarded.
Amy spoke over the lump in her throat. “Matt, please don’t think I blame you for what happened. Daniel’s just that kind of person. He had to go. He wouldn’t want you to go around looking like a kicked pup.”
He tried to grin and failed. “Is that what I look like? Amy, I do feel guilty. But I have other things on my mind, so don’t think it’s all—about Daniel.”
“The girl back home and such?” She spoke lightly and was surprised by the black look he turned on her. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m not prying. But I’ll be glad to lend a listening ear. Even write a letter for you if you’d like.”
“Well, I don’t have a girl back home. There’s no girl, and won’t be.” She dare not push words past the scowl on his face. She studied the clouds.
“Matter of fact,” he continued, “my troubles are pretty much beyond a lady’s help.” He hesitated and then hurried on. “It’s this whole lousy war. Now I’m thinking hard of just slipping over the hill. By rights I should go home and turn myself in, but my heart isn’t in it.”
“Must be hard to see your buddies getting—” He winced and she said, “I’m sorry. Guess I’m thinking out loud. I suppose all of us Union people have one thought on our mind. It makes it pretty hard to talk to someone on the other side of the fence.”
“You could pretend there’s no fence.” He studied her face and she was struck again by the misery she was seeing in his eyes. He went on. “Aren’t we all pretty much alike down underneath? I don’t believe in slavery either, as a matter of fact—” Now he was looking into her eyes. She watched the questioning look sharpen and she waited. He seemed ready to say that word, ask that question. Then he turned away.
“Matt, I don’t know what you believe about God. But I know I just can’t live without Him, praying to Him, asking for help.” He moved impatiently, and hastily she added, “I’m not trying to push gospel on you. It’s my guess you know all about how Jesus is God and that the only chance you have of making it for eternity is through accepting His sacrifice for sins.”
Under the dark expression in his eyes, his grin was amused. “Lady, you just said it all. Just because I’m from the South doesn’t mean I’m heathen. Believe it or not, we have the same gospel, the same hymnals, and the same Holy Bible.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He looked perplexed. “How’s that?” She sighed and he asked, “Has it occurred to you that there ar
e genuine Christians who are also Confederates? See, Amy, when you believe in a cause, even though there’re parts that aren’t in line with your thinking, you end up obligated to make the best of the situation and fight for your people.”
Troubled, she questioned, “When do the bad parts matter so much that you have to do something about it, like quit?”
He looked down at his white-knuckled hands. “I guess it happens when you can’t stand the mess of ugly questions rolling around inside. Is it possible to throw out everything and start all over again?”
His honesty forced her to be honest too. “Seems the score is about even on every side. Those Union soldiers were killing too. Why? Matt, I don’t understand much either. What I want to know is, what’s going on? What’s become so big and important about personal beliefs that we have to kill and tear up the whole country? Daniel says it’s selfishness. He says that if we dig deep enough we’ll find—”
The bleakness on his face caught her up short. Daniel. His presence was there between them, and it was looking much like a sacrifice. Miserably Amy looked at Matthew and tried to not dwell on the worthiness or unworthiness of the cause behind the sacrifice.
Chapter 24
Amy fingered the tin of peaches and addressed Bill. “If these people upset you, why do you stay here at the trading post?”
“I didn’t say they upset me. Sometimes the things they do make me a mite uneasy. Take the Holy Week business. Kinda puts me to shame. I consider myself a pretty good Christian, but I can’t see myself crawling in the dirt once a year. Matter of fact, all the wild chanting kinda gets under my skin. Not that I’m intolerant. I just don’t understand.”
The front door of the trading post banged open and a heavy voice interrupted. “You sell beans in anything smaller than twenty-five pounds? I’m on the road and can’t carry much.”
Amy wheeled around. “Father Dyer! What are you doing here?” She started forward and then stopped. She watched the emotion cross his face. First she saw surprise, and then something like sorrow. Her heart sank. She whispered, “Daniel, it’s about Daniel, isn’t it?”
