Out of the Crucible

by Marian Wells

  She felt her hand slipping across the counter and Father Dyer had his arms around her. “Amy! What do you mean? I saw Chivington last week.” He shook her gently as he added, “Met him on the trail; he told me Daniel was headed for home.”

  “Daniel—home?” She touched his face. “You really are here; he’s safe—it’s true?”

  He pulled her toward the bench. “Sister, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Chivington said he’d just seen Daniel in Santa Fe. I asked him about your folks and he didn’t know anything.” He stopped suddenly and bent over her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you this way, but—”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Amy cried.

  “That your mother and father went to New Mexico Territory. I fear—”

  “Mother and Father are here. It’s Daniel—” Suddenly she comprehended the meaning of his words. “Daniel is alive!”

  He cradled her in his arms and awkwardly patted. “Now, now. Chivington seems to know all about it. Said Daniel started for Colorado with a group of soldiers. Said he was probably back in Oro City now. It settled my worries about leaving the people without a pastor.”

  Amy wasn’t listening and finally he stood up. Bill said, “Want I should go get her mother?”

  The door banged and Amelia cried, “What’s wrong with Amy?”

  “Oh, Mother! Daniel’s alive. Father Dyer says he’s probably in Oro City right now. I want to go!”

  “Well, you can’t go in this fuss; you’ll lose that baby for certain.” The men were grinning at Amy.

  Bill hurried away. “Missus, I’ll bring you a drink of—water. Guess that’s what mothers-to-be are supposed to drink.”

  Amelia was patting Amy. “Now, you calm down and drink the water. Father and I will see that you get home just as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll take her,” Father Dyer offered. “I’ve no call to go to New Mexico now.”

  “New Mexico?” Amelia exclaimed. “Why did you send us there to have that accident if you intended going all along?”

  For a moment she frowned while Amy mopped the last of her tears. Taking a deep breath of relief and peering at the expression marching across Father Dyer’s face, she said, “Oh, Mother, you’re making him feel terrible, and it will be worse when he sees Father.”

  Amelia rushed to him and squeezed his hands between her own. “I am sorry. Still—” She sighed and then smiled sweetly. “How can such a big, tough guy be fussed over a woman scolding?”

  “Mother, he was on his way to New Mexico to look for you.” For a moment Amelia studied him and then she pressed his hands to her face.

  Amy turned to hand the cup to Bill and noticed his face was very red. As he shifted from one foot to the other, Amy looked from her mother to Father Dyer and suggested, “Maybe we should just go find Father, so Bill can wait on his customers.” Mother turned and Amy waved at the line of dark eyes watching them.

  Later that evening Amy realized Matthew seemed to be the only one who couldn’t be explained. As she watched him sitting back in the shadows, she noticed that neither one of her parents seemed inclined to try to explain his presence. With Matthew’s troubled eyes watching her, she dared not.

  The next day the wagon train came into Pueblo. Bill was stomping around the trading post, putting away boxes and barrels when Amy came for milk. He explained, “This is the first supply train to come through in two months. Between the Indians and the fighting going on in New Mexico, there was just no call for taking more risks.”

  He stopped and pointed his pencil at her. “You tell Father Dyer to come in here. These men will be expecting a little entertainment. We might as well have revival while they’re here.”

  Amy’s jaw dropped. She pondered which question to ask first. He added, “Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not all that sold on religion. But these men have to be entertained. If we don’t the girls will. I’m the boss here, so what I say goes. The best we can offer right now is revival. Go tell him.”

  That evening, while the sea of men’s faces lifted toward Father Dyer’s happy grin, he said, “Mighty sorry I didn’t bring my portable organ. But I didn’t expect this privilege. Sister Amy will come and lead us in a hymn or two.”

  Amy came, wistfully thinking of the clunky little portable organ as she faced the men and began to sing. When she finally sat down, her thoughts were full of the memories of revival in Buckskin Joe. She glanced at her mother and father. They were nodding and smiling as Father Dyer stood to preach.

  For a moment Amy had to battle the lonesome lump in her throat, but the lump disappeared as she reminded herself, I still have a husband, and I’ll be seeing him soon!

  Father Dyer’s words caught at her. “Oh, children of Israel, children of our God. Would that I could grind your golden calf and make you drink, just as Moses did. But those days are gone forever. There’s not a one on this earth who can successfully push your nose into the trough of gold-tainted water. You must be Moses and children. You must do the pushing yourselves. Drink the gold of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice if you genuinely desire to drink of the fountain of life.”

  Amy’s thoughts began to drift. She was thinking of the smoke- marked crucible Father Dyer had brought to her. At the time she examined the tiny drop of gold in the bottom of the cupel, she had determined to fill the crucible to the top with all the gold nuggets she would dig herself. What a lark it had been to think of surprising Daniel with a crucible of gold mined from their own rocky soil! Ruefully, she remembered the small handful of nuggets. You didn’t find enough nuggets to buy Father Dyer’s organ, let alone a real piano.

  Father Dyer’s voice broke through her thoughts. “My friends, are you absolutely certain that the gold you harbor is genuine? Fools gold can sparkle and blind our eyes. Are you hugging your gold so close to your bosom that you can’t tell whether it is the genuine article or fools gold?”

  There was a heavy silence as he added. “We can have the perfect gold of Jesus Christ in the beginning, but it is possible to allow corruption to creep in. Not a one of us dare guard the gold in our lives, hugging it so closely that Jesus Christ isn’t allowed to burn out the dross. This evening I ask: What do you hold most dear in your life? May it never be melted into a golden idol.”

  As Amy went to lead the final hymn, she wondered if a piano would be considered an idol.

  The wagon train loaded with goods departed for Santa Fe. But the village quiet was momentary. Another wagon train arrived. Bill explained the stream of people stopping in Pueblo. “The word gets around. The fighting is over in New Mexico, and all the folks afraid to face the trail are out there again. Hope they aren’t sorry. The Indians are mighty brave. They’ve got it figured out that the white men are too busy fighting each other to have time for them.”

  “Is that so?” Amy asked.

  Bill carefully measured the beans into Amy’s tin lard pail and looked up. “Of course not. Sure, the soldiers were busy for a time, but remember the traffic across the trail stopped for a time, too. The last wagon train through here brought the news that California’s gearing up to send troops this way. Just in time for Indian problems.”

  She gave him the coins and turned. “So matter-of-fact,” she murmured, shaking her head. Matthew was stacking miner’s picks and shovels against the front wall. She stopped. “Are there gold mines around here?” He nodded and went on with his work. She studied his face. Impulsively she said, “When you aren’t laughing and having fun with the others, your face is so sad it makes me ache.”

  The grin he turned toward her was crooked. “Thanks for the sympathy.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Your folks have asked me to stay with them for a time. They’ll be starting for Central City to gather up their belongings and they need help.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a hurry to do anything, so I’ll stick around.”

  Amy couldn’t think of anything to say, but she continued to watch him as he finished stacking merchandise.
He turned. “Come into the back room. I want to show you a saddle. It’s Mexican, and too costly to be out front.” He led the way, saying, “I doubt you’ve ever seen one.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said hesitantly.

  “You’d know if you saw one. Tooled leather, and shaped more like a throne than a hunk of leather to keep you from falling off a horse.” He led her through the shelves. Stopping in front of a shrouded object, he carefully lifted the blanket.

  Amy’s eyes could scarcely take in the grandeur. “Oh, Matthew, it’s beautiful.” She touched the design of flowers and leaves cut deeply into the mahogany leather, while her fingers followed the hammered silver mountings set with turquoise. “This is the most beautiful saddle I’ve ever seen, but I can’t imagine anyone actually riding on it.”

  “Bill says he’s had it for a couple of years. I don’t think he’s ever used it.”

  “Well, he doesn’t have it hanging in the tack room in the barn.”

  As Amy turned to leave, the door of the trading post banged and she heard a chorus of voices. Matt said, “French. Who is speaking French out here?”

  The voices ceased abruptly and Bill’s slow voice came, “Good day, gentlemen. Lucas, I’m surprised to see you here. Guess I expected you to be long gone.”

  Amy heard his reply just as she started forward. At the same moment, Matthew blocked the doorway. He whispered. “Stay here! I don’t want that fellow to know I’m back here.”

  Amy heard Lucas’s low laughter as fragments of the conversation reached her. “…not done yet. Be patient, my friend, and don’t forget we are friends.” He stressed the words and added, “That carries its own reward.”

  Amy looked at Matthew and mouthed, “But I know him—Matthew, I want to at least greet him. He’s a member of Father’s church.”

  Matthew’s lips twisted; he kept his voice low, saying, “He’s a Confederate of the worst kind, and he’ll kill me if he has the opportunity.”

  “You’re not serious,” she whispered, moving close enough to see his eyes in the dim room.

  Matthew’s hand signaled silence and she listened. Lucas said, “I need fresh mounts. I can have your horses back in three weeks, but for now you’ll have to trust me. It’s imperative I get to Denver as quickly as possible.” There was an undercurrent of meaning in the words that caught Amy’s attention. She saw Matthew tighten his lips.

  In a moment Bill said, “Go to the stable and have Joe give you what you want.” His voice was devoid of its usual friendliness as he added, “I’ll hold you to your word or else—”

  Lucas’s voice was just as flat as Bill’s when he answered, “You’re not in a position to make threats—that is, if you’re interested in a decent future.”

  Matthew and Amy waited until the door banged again. Matthew gave Amy a gentle nudge. “Tell Bill I’m working back here. Go home and don’t make any effort to see Tristram. I don’t know what will happen if you do. To me, that is.”

  “Matthew?” She questioned, trying to see his eyes in the dark room. His face twisted as he pressed his lips together. She hesitated and then touched his arm, “Matthew, I won’t reveal you. Please—” He shook his head and she went through the doorway.

  Bill looked up in surprise when her footsteps echoed across the puncheon floor. The surprise faded into a questioning discomfort. “Didn’t know you were back there.”

  “Matthew wanted to show the saddle to me. He said to tell you he’s working back there.” Bill nodded and turned away. With a sigh of relief Amy headed for the door.

  Chapter 25

  “Amy, are you certain you can tolerate this trip home? Horseback is hard enough when you’re feeling good.”

  Amy met her mother’s troubled eyes. “You’re thinking about the sickness? Mother, it isn’t as bad now. Besides, both Father Dyer and I want to get back to Oro City. I’ll never rest until I see Daniel with my own eyes. And Father Dyer—”

  She turned to smile at the sandy-haired square block of a man seated at the table with her father. He scarcely tossed her a glance as he went back to pounding the newspaper in front of him.

  “Eli, the war news is grim. Our men are leaving the circuit to enlist at a rate that scares me. I sympathize. Any red-blooded young man wants to do his part. Even your Daniel struggled with his call. He told me so. He nearly bolted a year ago, wanting to pack a rifle in the Army if they wouldn’t let him pack a Bible.”

  Eli continued to shake his head. “You’re wrong to think the church will find a spot for me. I’m finished as a preacher in the church.”

  Amy saw her mother wince and blink tears out of her eyes. Quickly she turned away from the table. “Father,” Amy protested, “you know Mother doesn’t believe that, and she certainly doesn’t want you to quit preaching. I can’t understand why you think it’s necessary, particularly now. Like Father Dyer says—”

  Eli’s face reddened, and he moved uncomfortably on his bench. “Daughter,” he rumbled, “I think there’re some topics you’ve no call to push.”

  “But, this isn’t just—” Amy argued. The anguish on her parents’ faces made her stop.

  Father Dyer’s expression was stern as he turned from one to the other of them. “Eli, what about the promise? You told me you had absolute confidence the Lord would intervene in your life. Do you think He did?”

  Eli nodded. With his hand resting on the Bible in front of him, he closed his eyes and quoted softly, “‘Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her. And I will give her vineyards from thence, and the valley of Achor for a door of hope: and she shall sing there …’”

  “But, Father, can’t you see? Mother isn’t singing,” Amy pleaded. “She isn’t happy. I know the before and after woman. For these weeks I’ve been watching her. It’s like she can hardly keep back the tears sometimes—”

  “Amy,” Amelia said sharply, “you’ve no call to talk to your father that way. Let us work this out.”

  “I’ve lived with him longer than you have.” Amy’s words were cutting in over Amelia’s. “He gets his mind made up, and there’s no changing it at all. Now, I won’t let him hurt you this way.”

  Unable to stand it any longer, Amelia burst into tears. Trembling, she faced them. “There are problems, but it is nothing you have any right to address. This is between the two of us. Please—”

  Eli straightened. “Why, Amelia, I didn’t know.” The hurt note in his voice triggered Amy’s anger.

  “Father! Now you’re trying to heap it up to make us both feel guilty for—”

  “Daughter.” Eli’s injured tone sharpened; “you need to go pray about this. Seems you’re not living up to—”

  “Not being holy, like you? Say it, Father!” The tears were running down Amy’s cheeks as she continued. “And I despair of ever being able to measure up to your standard, no matter how much I love you.”

  Amelia’s hand was on her arm, tugging. Now her voice rose. “Eli, I must say this: you are pushing down both Amy and me. Defeat. I’ve seen it in your eyes. You expect me to fail again. Are you so caught up with forgiving that you’ve forgotten to expect a miracle?” She was sobbing openly now. “Eli, the two of us need a miracle. You talk about change, a deep-down spirit change, but it won’t happen until you’re pulling with us, not against us.”

  Eli began to talk, and the words came out in his preachy voice. Amy heard the stern words, the anguish in his voice. Again she protested, “Father, you throw up a curtain of words. A wall. They’ve always stood between us. And the way you say them is louder than what you say. Do you know? For years I thought you didn’t love me; now I know all the words—the curtain of words—were because you suffered over Mother.”

  Amelia was caught. Her hands stopped short of her tear-stained face as she asked, “Did you, Eli? I didn’t guess.”

  Father Dyer rumbled, and they all turned to look at him. Amy quaked before the man’s stern face as he said, “Eli, yo
u are less than a man of God if you fail to make this woman the Lord gave you feel like the most beautiful, most desirable woman on earth. You have no right to judge her by the past. She is your wife, your sister in Christ. Her salvation is your responsibility; you judge her with open arms.”

  He started for the door and turned. There were tears streaming down Eli’s face, but Father Dyer ignored them. He said, “About being a minister. The Lord called you. If the church won’t have you, then find a street corner. But don’t diminish your wife by failing the Lord.”

  The door shook as he forcefully closed it behind himself. Eli wiped the tears from his eyes. He looked at Amy. “Daughter, why don’t you go pick daisies ’til dinner time?”

  ****

  When Amy and Father Dyer rode out of Pueblo and turned on the trail pointing over the mountains toward Oro City, Amy gave a huge sigh of relief. Father Dyer grinned at her. “Wanna explain it?”

  “Mostly I’m just glad to be heading home, back to Daniel.”

  “Well, just take it easy. You mind your mother and don’t be rushing this trip.”

  Amy slanted a glance at him. “Mother and Father, they seemed pretty—”

  “Lovey-dovey?” He grinned. “Romance doesn’t die when you reach thirty, my dear.”

  “I suppose you are going to be preaching all the way home.”

  “To you or when we stop for the night?”

  “Well, I was thinking of the nights.”

  “Of course. Think any circuit-riding preacher would dare head outta town without delivering his soul?”

  “I suppose not. At least Daniel had that hungry look on his face when we stopped in villages, even the Spanish ones.” She paused. “I’ll be so glad to see him.”

  Father Dyer tossed her a sympathetic glance and then asked, “Think you can handle my preaching at you all the way home?”

  “Guess I can, if you can handle my tears.” He harrumphed, and Amy continued. “Sometimes people get pushed by life until they come out feeling like they’ve been living out a sermon.”