Amethyst (30 page)

Amethyst stared at the flask on the table McHenry was using as a desk.

He’s a drinking man
. Why did the thought make her want to sweep it away? After all, it was no business of hers. All she had to do was clean his room. She turned her back and pulled the sheet and one quilt tight. They’d put away the heavier woolen quilts of winter. She plumped the pillows, checked the chamber pot, cleaned and dusted the flat surfaces. Without picking up the flask.

She could hear her father’s voice.
“There’s nothing wrong with a good belt once in a while.”
But for the him the good belt was never enough, and once in a while came far too often. Along with a sodden ride home and time to sleep it off. He’d called it medicinal.

She noticed that McHenry limped sometimes. Was that in the flask medicinal for him? If so, then it was no business of hers. Not that what he did was ever any business of hers.

She thought back to the night before. The two of them had remained sitting in the parlor for some time after the Heglands had gone on to bed. She’d finally gotten up the courage to ask him a question.

“What was it like in Arizona Territory?”

He had smiled and nodded, a faraway look drifting into his eyes. “About as different from here as could ever be. Have you seen pictures of cactuses?”

“In a book one time. I think there are many kinds.”

“That is true. Some are huge, like the saguaros that can weigh several tons, and some are much smaller, like the cholla that look soft and fluffy but will fill your or your horse’s legs with spines if you even go near them. They earned the name jumping cholla because the spines seem to jump out at anything that nears them. The desert can be a fierce and unforgiving land in the summer, yet a place of incredible beauty in the spring when it blooms.”

“It is not all sand?” She thought to a picture she’d seen of the Sahara Desert in Africa.

“Oh no. There are rocks and gullies, mountains and arroyos, where the water can run deep and swift—they call them flash floods. If it rains in the mountains, water can come roaring down rapidly. People need to stay out of the low places. The land isn’t good for much unless you’re by a river and can get water. There’s not even enough grass in most places to raise cattle, just sagebrush and creosote bush, which burns hotter’n any regular wood.” He paused and let his eye drift closed, nodding a bit. “But you watch, settlers will come more and more for the fine winters. After we captured Geronimo and I lost my eye and Kentucky and I were both wounded in an ambush, I lost my taste for military life. There’s something about Geronimo…. It was kind of like capturing a wild and proud stallion and breaking him to the plow.” He half snorted. “Poor analogy, but…” He paused, lost in thought.

Amethyst had watched the lamplight play over the planes of his face, corrugating his cheekbones, squaring his jaw, tossing lights into his silvered hair. The black patch seemed to fit, as if he’d worn it forever instead of only a few months. While it might look daring on some, on him it added to the sense of tired. Weary. Worn down.

“I always loved the badlands. It’s good to be home.” He opened his eye and smiled at her. “You’re a quiet and gentle presence; do you know that?”

Amethyst shrugged, ducking her chin. She was quiet because she had nothing to say. Her father would not call her gentle, not after she had left him in the wagon in the barn overnight. “Worthless” was the only word she’d ever heard—from men anyway. How to tell this man that he was the first to ever talk with her like this.

“Can I get you anything before…” She couldn’t mention bed. That would be improper.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you for your time. I’m sure you’re tired after all the work you’ve done today.” He smiled, the movement of his mouth causing deep brackets in his cheeks. “I’d like it if you told me something about yourself.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I lived on my father’s farm all my life. He sent me here to bring Joel back because he thought Joel was his grandson. He wanted him to live on the land he would inherit.” Was there a touch of bitterness in her tone? She hoped not.

“Where?”

“Eastern Pennsylvania.”

“And I take it Joel is not your nephew?”

“I always thought he was.” A sigh caught her unaware.
Now I have no one
. The thought brought on another sigh.
You haven’t written to your father again
. That thought plagued her every day as if it were a vengeful creature out to make her miserable.
All I want to do is forget. Forget all the work I did for a place that would never be mine, no matter how often I wished it so. Forget the man who, even though he is my father, thinks me worth less than the dog that lived under our porch. So, Father, how are you faring on your own? And since I am not there, who are you browbeating now, as you did my mother before me?

Just write the letter and get it off your conscience
. The voice of reason was never as strident as the one seeking her misery.

Amethyst had listened to Jacob Chandler’s preaching on Sunday. He’d said God the Father loved all of His children, which must include her. Hard to think of a loving heavenly Father when the one who, as he said, provided all her needs was no earthly good.

She glanced up from studying her chapped fingers when she felt Jeremiah’s gaze upon her.

“So what will you do?”

“I’m not going back.” There. She’d declared her intentions aloud again. Mrs. Grant had said she had a good head, the first compliment from anyone other than her mother, and she’d believed her. Working here for Pearl was nowhere near as arduous as doing both the man’s work and the woman’s work on her father’s farm. And Pearl so often expressed her gratitude.

“I know Pearl is grateful for your help here. I’ve heard her say so.”

Was she just being polite? Amethyst often wondered. Pearl wore graciousness like a fine knit shawl and shared it with all around her. Especially with Amethyst. Never before had she heard “please” or “thank you” spoken with a smile rather than a grudge.

Amethyst gathered the compliments and stored them against a day when she might indeed be forced to return to her father’s house.

Getting to her feet, she had been surprised to see him stand also. “I bid you good night, then, and thank you for a pleasant evening.”

He had sketched a bow and nodded. “We must do this again.”

He had acted the perfect gentleman that night, had been rude only that one time. But now the flask. What was she to make of it all? Well, it was no business of hers.

Several mornings later she woke long before the rooster. She lit her kerosene lamp, took out paper and pencil that she’d borrowed from Pearl some time earlier, and sat down to write to her father.

Dear Pa,

She printed in slightly large block letters so that he could read it more easily.

Since I have not heard from you, I think that you may not have received my earlier letter. I have news for you that will not make you pleased. Upon arriving in Medora, I learned that Joel is truly not your grandson. I do not know all the particulars, but he is with his real father. One only need to see them together to know this is so. He and his pa live at the Robertson ranch, and his father is becoming the pastor for the church here.

I am doing housework at the boardinghouse where I first came to stay. I do not plan to return to Pennsylvania. I like it here in the West.

I was very ill on the trip here, and a wonderful woman named Mrs. Grant from Chicago made sure I received medical treatment, or I might not be here now.

I hope all is well with you.

Your daughter,

Amethyst Colleen O’Shaunasy

She thought of writing
loving daughter
but was not able to force the pen into the proper configuration. She addressed the envelope, including a return address in case he ever wanted to contact her, and placed her folded letter inside. Tomorrow she would walk into town and mail this letter, to finally get it off her conscience. She had thought about asking him to send her a box of her things but knew that would be useless.

At the rooster crowing she made her way downstairs, dipped warm water from the reservoir, and returned to her room to wash and dress.

Back down in the kitchen she sliced the cornmeal mush in preparation for frying, having set it the night before with bits of venison sausage worked into it. The hens were laying better again, so they could have fried eggs too; such a treat after the oatmeal, cornmeal mush, and pancakes they’d been having for breakfast. Surely Pearl wouldn’t mind if she let several of the broody hens hatch their eggs to replace the hens lost in the winter and to have young fryers to eat. If the Heglands could afford another cow, she would love to begin making cottage cheese to sell at the store in town, and perhaps they could build up a milk route, something she’d thought of doing at home—or rather, in Pennsylvania. No longer would she refer to that place as home.

“Good morning, Amethyst. You are up early.” Pearl set Joseph in the high chair his father had made for him so he could sit at the table.

“You’ve already fed him?”

“Yes, the little piglet nursed twice during the night.” Pearl hid her yawn behind her hand. “Carl is already out in the shop. One certainly can’t sleep through a fussing child, at least not this one. I saw light under your door in the wee hours. Are you all right?”

“Never better. I finally wrote to my father again after putting it off so long. This time I said I was not returning to Pennsylvania.”

“Congratulations.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll walk in to town this morning to mail the letter and anything you want to send. Then I can stop by the general store. I’d like to sew Carly a new pinafore and some shifts for summer.”

“How nice. I’ll give you the money for sewing supplies and the cotton. I’ll make a list of things we need. I think you should take the horse and wagon.”

“I don’t want to get stuck. I’d rather walk. I have a question.”

Pearl smiled and nodded. “Go ahead.” She smiled even more broadly after Amethyst laid out her dreams to sell cottage cheese again and maybe even deliver milk. “Wonderful. I’ll ask Carl.”

Later, as Amethyst served breakfast, she caught Mr. McHenry watching her. The heat started right about her heart, and she hoped it didn’t shine like a beacon on her face. She’d been surprised at how pleased she’d been to see him on his return from Deadwood.

“Would you care for more?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

She held the platter for Mr. Hegland. “And you, sir?”

“Thank you.” Carl waited while she slid several slices onto his plate. “Amethyst, I would appreciate it if you did not call me sir.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled at him with a slight shrug. “It just comes out.” That annoying heat, again setting her cheeks afire.

Pearl laughed, which set Carly to giggling, and soon they were all chuckling. “Please, Amethyst, we are not laughing at you.”

“I know, but it is so good to hear and see laughter in a house.” Amethyst picked up a cloth to wipe the syrup from Carly’s hands and face. “There you go, little one.” She swooped her up and planted a kiss on the little cheek before setting her on the floor.
I shall make her a rag ball from the bits and pieces left over. If I could find a jingle bell to put in it, that would make her smile more
.

Sometime later when she handed her letter in at the post office, she almost looked up to see what took the weight off her shoulders.

“Here is some mail that has come in. Would you be willing to drop this off at the Blacks’ on your way home?”

“Of course.” Home, on her way home. Another bit to take in and let it warm her heart.

She chose a calico with flowers on a green background that wouldn’t show the dirt too much for Carly’s pinafore and a red-andwhite gingham for the little girl’s shifts. With a clean waist, that would do for church. For herself, she fingered a fine white lawn with sprigs of green leaf that would look lovely in a high-necked blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves and lace set in tucks down the front and gathered around the neck and cuffs. Never had she worn such a fine garment. But she’d seen other women dressed in similar fashion.
Be satisfied with the dresses Pearl has given you,
she told herself, glancing down at the green cotton skirt she’d altered to fit her.

Would Mr. McHenry—? She cut off
that
thought with a snort. No matter what she wore, no man would look at her that way. Her father had told her so often enough.
“Colleen, you are good enough to cook and plow, but don’t get any highfalutin ideas out of your station. God put you where you are for a reason.”
And while Mr. McHenry said nice things to her, he had a temper and he drank. Mix the two together, and she well knew what could happen. She wanted no part of it. As if he cared anyway.