Amethyst (11 page)

Amethyst awoke sometime in the night to feel a cool hand on her brow and the covers tucked more securely around her.

“Thanks be to God, there’s no fever.”

“If she recovers without it going into her lungs, she’ll be one blessed woman.” The man’s voice faded in and out.

No fever. Thank you….

The next time she woke to see a little girl dressed in a pink pinafore over her dress and holding a rag doll by one arm. One finger in her mouth, she stood watching Amethyst. Being stared at in such a concerted manner made her want to make sure she still had nose and chin. But before she could marshal her thoughts to say something, the little one turned around and made her way down the stairs.

“Ma. Ma, awake. Come see.”

Amethyst smiled and glanced toward the window. It might as well be night, so dark was the snow pelting the pane. Now that she was awake, she realized the roaring in her dream was not a train but the wind making every effort to tear down the walls and ravage the occupants.

Stretching her arms above her head, she debated whether to snuggle back down under the quilts or to get up. When her body suggested she’d better take care of some long-delayed functions, she sat up and swung her feet to the braided rug on the floor. Having taken care of the necessary things, she set about to find her clothing. Her carpetbags—had anyone thought to go look for them? Otherwise, all she had were the clothes she’d been wearing and this borrowed nightdress.
The Bible. I have to have my Bible
. Most probably the weight of that huge family Bible had been one of the things that had worn her out so quickly. That and having been so terribly ill not more than a few days earlier. Thank God she had sewn the two gold pieces into the hem of her coat.

She smiled as her gaze roved the room. It was square with two long windows, one on each outer wall, with the four-poster set crosswise of the corner between the windows. The lace curtains would surely billow when the windows were open in the summer. Right now the wind would tear the lace right off the rods. A braided rug for under her feet, a washstand to the right of the bed, pegs on a board along the forget-me-not papered wall to hold her clothes. A kerosene lamp ready for lighting took up one end of a chest of drawers, where her meager belongings wouldn’t fill even one drawer. White painted woodwork, everything so new, clean, and comfortable.

She’d never been in such a room in her entire life. Her room at home had a single bed, nails for her clothes, again so few needed, and a wooden box that held the lamp. She’d had the bare necessities, but then, what did it matter? She stayed in her room only long enough to sleep and dress.

Amethyst closed her eyes against tears that threatened. If only Ma had seen such beauty, how she would have loved it. But then, perhaps her mother had. Some things she said through the years made her daughter realize that her mother had given up much to marry the man who had worked her to death.

“Miss O’Shaunasy?” The voice came from the stairs. “I’m bringing you a breakfast tray. I’m sure you must be famished by now.”

Amethyst scrambled back into the warmth of the bed and smoothed the crazy quilt over her outstretched legs. A tray in bed. What luxury. And she felt well enough to enjoy it. “You shouldn’t have. I could have come downstairs.” She smiled at the woman who wore a high-necked dress with the lace tickling her earlobes, her silver blond hair bundled in a crocheted snood.

“Well, I wasn’t sure how you would be feeling. Staying in bed for the day surely wouldn’t hurt anything.” Pearl set an inlaid wood tray on the bed. “I thought mush would go down easily if your throat is still sore. I poured cream over it and added brown sugar. There’s bread and jam. If you’ve never had Juneberry jam, it is a specialty of this area. I brought coffee, but if you would rather have tea, I can bring that up.”

“No, this is just fine.” Amethyst felt her insides rumble at the smell of the food. “I think I am indeed very hungry.” She picked up the bread and took a bite. “Ah, what a treat.”

“You might want to eat the mush while it is hot. I ground up the oats myself.”

Amethyst did just as suggested and took a spoonful, then another, smiling around her mouthful. After swallowing, she set her spoon back on the tray.

“Is it not to your liking?”

“I want to know what you did to make this cereal so good.”

“Well, you eat and I’ll tell you.”

Amethyst indicated the foot of the bed. “Can you sit down for a few minutes? I imagine you’ve been going at a dead run ever since your feet hit the floor this morning.”

Pearl sat with a slight sigh. “Not as much as usual. With the storm still brewing, the men can’t get out to work, and my husband, Carl, is doing chores around here. We didn’t have to be up so early and could eat a bit later. Also, you are our only guest right now, so I am having an easy day. Carl and my daughter, Carly, are doing something mysterious, and since it is the day before Christmas, I was told not to ask questions.”

Perhaps that was the man’s voice Amethyst thought she might have heard during the night. She ate her way to the bottom of the bowl, just listening. “And the mush?”

“Oh, that’s right. I toast the oats just slightly before I grind them. I set the coffee grinder on coarse, and after the oats are ground, I put them to cooking throughout the night. You know, on the back of the stove. That means part of the breakfast is ready when we get up.”

“You keep the stove going all night?”

“We have to. When it gets so terribly cold like right now, Carl gets up during the night and restokes the fires several times. I am so blessed. He lets me sleep.”

“And you have how many children?”

“Two. Carly was your visitor.” Pearl leaned against the post at the foot of the bed and turned with one knee up on the quilt. “Christmas will be different this year. With a storm like this, no one will be able to make it to town for church. Our church meets in the schoolhouse, but some of our people come from miles out in the country. Last Sunday it was announced that if it was snowing, there would be no Christmas Eve service, which means no program, and the children have been working so hard on it.”

“Will they have it later, then?”

“Yes, when the weather breaks. This has been the worst year for blizzards since I’ve been here. And we’re still only in December.”

Amethyst leaned back against her pillows. “That was a delicious breakfast, but I don’t think you need to carry trays up and down those stairs for me. I will join you for dinner and supper.” She barely trapped a yawn. “Goodness me.”

“Please excuse my manners. Here I go on rattling about us when I want to know about you. What brought you to Medora?”

“I am looking for my nephew.” Amethyst missed the next yawn, it came so fast. “Pardon me, I’m the one whose manners are delinquent.”

“I thought you might be exhausted today from the ordeal you had yesterday. Your nephew?”

Amethyst nodded, and another yawn kept her from answering.

“Oh, mercy me, I forgot to tell you the good news. Carl found two carpetbags on his way home yesterday. Might they be yours?”

“Yes. That is good news.”

“I hung your things near the stove to dry. Snow had seeped into the bags, but your beautiful Bible escaped any damage. I can bring them up for you any time.” She smiled when Amethyst yawned again, this time behind her hand. “I have a suggestion: you let yourself take a nap and come down whenever you feel like it. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like I am being cosseted.”
And I am used to being the one doing the cosseting
. “Thank you…for everything.”

“Good. You rest now. We eat dinner promptly at twelve, since Carl usually comes in to eat.”

“What does your husband do?” Amethyst fought to keep her eyes open and be polite.

“He is a carpenter and a furniture maker par excellence. He has a workshop out back. When you come down, I’ll show you the desk he made for me when I was still teaching.” She paused at the door. “And tonight we’ll light our Christmas tree.”

“Good.”
Good grief. Is it really Christmas? If Pa is worried, there is no way I can help him this time
.

The wind had picked up again when she awoke, alternately howling, whistling, and whispering like a child wanting his own way. It cajoled, pleaded, and then screamed again in fury—perhaps more like a certain father whose moods she knew far too well.

What if I never go back?

The thought made her sit straight up in bed. Of course she was going back. She would find Joel, and the two of them would become good friends again on the journey home. She remembered carrying him in a sling while she took care of his mother during one of Melody’s bad spells. She had taught him to read—he was such a bright little boy—and had read to him when she could squeeze out the time. He helped her feed the chickens when the rooster was almost as tall as he was, and one day she found him standing between the front legs of one of the workhorses, arms around the stout legs, swinging back and forth and singing.

The horse never moved, quite unlike her heart, which did a panic dance as she went to retrieve him, gently talking to the horse so the animal did not get frightened. But then, Joel had always gotten along well with the animals, even with the sow that could have gobbled him easily but instead let him ride on her slightly arched back. Except when she had piglets. Then everyone treated her very carefully and knew enough to jump quick. Mama sows looked after their own with a vengeance.

“But how to find him in this wild country?” She shook her head.
What if he is living far away from town?
From the little she saw, Medora could be quite sizable, larger than Smithville. At least it had a train station. Many of those she’d passed while looking out the train window had nothing but an arm for a mail sack, perhaps a water tower to fill the train boiler, and a platform of sorts to unload things from the train. Both the land and the sky seemed to go on forever, although it must be a friendlier land in the spring with growing grass—and someone had mentioned wild flowers. What would spring be like in this wild country?

She resolutely threw back the covers and sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. Her two carpetbags sat by the wall, where pegs lined a board. Her dark skirt and both waists she’d sewn after a particularly good market day hung from hooks, a towel hung on a peg beside them, and a washcloth took up another. Pearl had been there and hung up Amethyst’s meager wardrobe while she had slept. Amethyst could hear a child’s high voice from downstairs and the rumble of a man’s. Someone laughed. Then quiet reigned.

Had they left? The notes from a piano drifted up the stairs— her favorite Christmas hymn, “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming.” Even here so far away from home and civilization, that rose would bloom again and always bloom. Amethyst hurried into her clothes and, after brushing her hair, twisted the long strands and swept them in a knot on top of her head. She found only one amber comb on the dresser top.

Tears burned her nose and eyes. The precious gift from Mrs. Grant, the only combs she’d ever had, and one was gone. She picked up the remaining one and ran her fingertip over the carving. Lost in the snow. So cold, so weary.
You nearly lost your life in that snow. You shouldn’t be grieving about a comb. Be grateful for your life
, she reminded herself. Someday perhaps she could purchase another. But that wasn’t the point. A pair of such beauty would always remind her of the special friend she had met on the train.

You might have lost the comb, but you will always have those memories in your heart
.

“Amethyst Colleen O’Shaunasy, listen to that still small voice. Wipe your eyes, fix your hair, and go down those stairs to join the family for the evening. Hiding up here is not only churlish but cowardly.” Her hand wobbled as she inserted the comb. Digging in her carpetbag, she found her hairpins and used them to tuck up the sides. She smoothed the front of her gored wool skirt and made sure all the buttons were in place on her waist, including those at the wrists. The mutton sleeves should have been ironed, but that was the least of her worries.
I wonder what Pa is doing this night. Has he made any preparation for Christmas? Tomorrow I must write to him
.

With one hand on the rail, she walked down the stairs, her heart pounding as if she’d chased the cows all the way to the barn from the far pasture. She wasn’t sure if it was the exertion of getting ready or the trepidation of meeting all the family and other boarders, if there were any by now.

She followed the notes into the front room, pausing in the doorway.

“See, Ma.” The little girl was leaning against the piano bench where her mother sat, bringing forth bits of heaven from her fingers rippling up and down the ivory keys.

Pearl brought the song to a close and turned to smile at Amethyst. “Welcome. I’m glad you feel up to joining us. Come in and meet everyone.” She stood and came over to take her guest’s arm. “We have a perfect chair for you right here by the fire. Supper will be ready shortly.” She turned to one of the men. “Carl, if you could do the introductions, I need to check on the stove.”