Carla Kelly (42 page)

They stopped walking. Amanda took her arm. “I couldn't be more pleased, but Della, a miner.”

“That's hardly an obstacle, because there is a bigger one—he's still in love with his late wife. You should see his face when he talks about her.”

“You have lots of time, dear!” Amanda said, patting her face. “This is our little secret and I won't say a word.”

“He tells me I don't think big enough,” Della said, her arm through her aunt's as they walked slowly toward the house. “Life isn't really made up of big things, is it?”

“Not the things that matter. He'll figure it out, but time is on your side.”

No one really wanted to leave the next morning. Still in her nightgown, the one Aunt Amanda said she could take with her, Angharad walked around the turret room as if memorizing it. She asked for a piece of paper and quickly drew a dragon to leave on the bed.

“Sister Knight might need a dragon, even if she does have a lovely house and all the hot fudge sundaes she wants.”

“You and hot fudge sundaes!” Della chided gently, folding their clothes and Christmas gifts into Mari Luoma's big suitcase. “I can't believe you dragged your father to the drug store after dinner last night for another one!”

“He loved it,” Angharad said complacently. “I still have a quarter left.”

“Thank goodness! No one should go home entirely broke.” She grabbed Angharad and sat down with her on the bed, holding her close. “My father taught me that years ago.”

“What happened to your da?” Angharad asked suddenly.

I can't tell you
, Della thought in panic. “He died.”
Dear Father in Heaven, don't let her ask me how
.

“How?”

They were both holding each other now, almost as if Angharad knew. “In a mine,” Della said, her voice muffled in Angharad's hair.

Angharad said nothing, but Della felt her enormous sigh, more than she heard it. After a moment of silence, Angharad pulled herself away from Della to look at her. It was a woman to woman look, startling in a child so young. Through a blur of unshed tears, Della gazed at the face of dignity.

“I pray every day for every man in Winter Quarters,” she whispered. “Do you, my dear?”

Angharad nodded. “We all do,” she said, her voice turned into Della's breast. “We pray that at Brother Evans's house when I stay there, and every morning before Da leaves for Number Four. He and I touch fingers and he says, ‘Leave it in God's hands.’ ” She leaned against Della, a child again. “Could we do that now,
os gwelwch yn dda
? Please, I mean.”

Wordless, Della put out her finger and touched Angharad's. “Leave it in God's hands,” she murmured.
Leave it all in God's hands
, she told herself as she held the child close.
This is my secret
.
Pray I will not be impatient, because Aunt Amanda is right: I have time.

t was easy to say, leave it in God's hands, but harder to do, as Della discovered the next day as they took the Denver and Rio Grande Western back to Winter Quarters in a snowstorm. Trust Owen to know how frightened they were, Della told herself, even though neither she nor Angharad said a thing. She wanted to close her eyes and scrunch into a little ball, but there was Angharad, expecting her teacher to act like an adult.

His arms around both of them again, he told them about the piano tuner, coming next week. When that brought no response, he tightened his grip on both of them. She closed her eyes when the train abruptly pulled to a siding as a coal train from Winter Quarters clacked past, the vibrations adding to her terror.

In a better setting, Della knew she could have better appreciated his one-sided conversation about his visit with Jesse to David Bullock, and their tour of the Bullocks’ new home. “Imagine, he wanted my opinion on the wainscoting in his dining room. I made a few suggestions.” He laughed softly and nudged Della. “Butterbean, this is where you are supposed to say, ‘Oh, really?’ or maybe, ‘Just think.’ ”

“I'm scared to death,” she murmured into his vest.

“I know, I know,” he crooned. “Don't leave our canyon again, eh?”

“Not until I am old and toothless with failing eyesight,” she joked, discovering it was easier to joke when she kept her eyes closed. “Or maybe until I go to Salt Lake for Christmas. Horrors! I'm going to rethink that.”

“No, no. You should visit your relatives. Pay attention now to what Brother Bullock said.”

She nodded.

“I told him that coal gets slow, along about July and August. He asked me to come to Provo for that time and install the wainscoting myself, and build his closets. What do you think?” He gave her a gentle shake. “This is where you nod your head, Butterbean.”

She nodded again, then finally heard what he was saying “Really? Owen, that's wonderful. You could have another career.”

“I'm a miner,” he reminded her, “but that would ease the summer gap. Believe
this
, if you can. I barely do. Your aunt contracted with me for three carved boxes.”

“She said she might,” Della said. Owen had kindly pulled his overcoat over both her and Angharad and she couldn't see the snow any more.

“She is paying me twenty dollars a box—sixty dollars! I make that in two months in the mine. It's too much.”

“Owen, you're the butterbean. Your boxes are
that
beautiful.”

He shook his head. “I'll believe you, even though thousands wouldn't.”

He hummed to them as the train racketed along, and she slept, worn out with worry. When she woke, the train was silent. They had stopped. She sat up, alarmed.

“Now, now,” he soothed. “Snow's blocking the tracks, and they've called for all able-bodied men to shovel. I am good at that. Keep my darling warm, will you?”

She did as he said, holding Angharad close, as the child slumbered on. He and the other men climbed back on an hour later. The train built up steam and they started again, slower this time, because they had lost momentum.

“We could have used another helper engine at Thistle,” he said, wrapping his overcoat around them again, even though it was cold and snow-covered.

“Da, your nose is red,” Angharad said.

“Thank goodness it's not long and Greek like Miss Anders's nose, or it probably would have grown icicles,” he teased.

Della laughed and Angharad giggled, after she took a good look at Della's nose. “Da, Miss Anders is beautiful. You said—”

“I said we'll be home in an hour,” he interrupted hastily, which made Della smile into his overcoat, more flattered now than fearful.

Two hours later, the train struggled even slower in the dark. Della heard Owen's stomach rumbling, so she took out the turkey sandwiches Aunt Amanda had provided and the vanilla cake with chocolate icing that Angharad pronounced almost as good as hot fudge sundaes.

“Your daughter has become quite a woman of the world,” Della told Owen later as Angharad slept, her head on his lap. “Cherry phosphates and hot fudge sundaes.”

“She had a good time. So did I.”

He yawned. “If you won't be afraid, I'm ready for a nap. Wake me up if you're frightened.” He closed his eyes, his hand curved protectively over his daughter.

Della watched them both, drowsy herself but determined to stay awake, because she was certain it was her force of mind keeping the train on the tracks. She closed her eyes too. When she woke later, his other hand was curved around her.

“Almost home,” he whispered.

“What a relief. I have a job here, and the ward choir needs a secretary in just about the worst way,” she said promptly, which made him laugh.

He was silent as they crossed the broad meadow. The snow had stopped and the moon was full and high. Della looked out the window, knowing it would be a cold walk to Winter Quarters, unless someone happened to be heading that way with a wagon. It was too late for the branch line. Good thing all she owned were sturdy shoes, the kind teachers wore.

Owen cleared his throat, and she looked at him, noting some uncertainty in his expression. “Della, I've decided on my reward when Billy Evans reads for you.”

“And that would be …”

“I get to kiss you.”

You could kiss me now
, she thought, calm with the idea and welcoming it. She saw his hesitancy, clearly understanding what he was asking, what it meant to a man who had loved his wife, dead six years.

“You know, it might be a while until … until Billy is ready to read,” she said, hoping she was right. “I hope you're not in a big hurry.”

“No, miss. I mean … Billy needs to think about this and take his time. I'll just take a little off the broom head, here and there, until he thinks he's ready. You'll know.”

It's not Billy, is it?
she asked herself.
It's you
.
And it's no peck on the cheek, either
. “I agree completely. Billy will know.”

He smiled and looked out the window then, his relief almost palpable.

Monday morning meant spending more time than usual, talking about Thanksgiving and turkey with her students. Della asked them to decide whether they wanted construction paper snowmen or icicles for the bulletin board. The result was a tie, so there would be both.

During lunch, Mari Elvena showed her how to fold the paper a new way to make a series of snowflakes. After reading, recitation, and arithmetic, Mari showed the whole class how to make an indoor paper snowstorm. By the time the bell rang, snowflakes were everywhere, looped from window to window, each with a spelling word or a math problem.

Mari lingered after class. “Miss Anders, I have for you …” She held out a folded piece of paper. Curious, Della opened it and read the note from Mrs. Koski. Here it was, the invitation to a sauna she had been dreading.

“Mari, I don't know …” She hesitated, her face red.

Mari held out her hand. “Come to see Mrs. Koski with me after school.”

Mrs. Koski held out both hands and drew Della into her home in Finn Town.

“Mrs. Koski, I've never …”

“This is how we ladies want to say thank you.” She gave Della shrewd look. “You would not want to make us unhappy.”

“No, never,” Della agreed. “Very well.” She looked around; no men in sight. Kari and his brothers must be on the afternoon shift. “Please tell me that the men …”

“Just ladies for you this time!” Mrs. Koski assured her.

“What do you mean, ‘
this
time’?” Della squeaked.

Mari and Mrs. Koski laughed. “We are joking you,” the older woman said. “Families sauna together.”

She said something to Mari, who nodded solemnly. “We will assure you that if
any
man in Finn Town thinks he will spy,
all
men will be sleeping alone in their front rooms until the winter thaw! Thursday night? You do not have the library that night.”

Della gulped. “Do I bring a towel?”

“Yes. Don't look so worried! We all look alike, Miss Anders. Even schoolteachers!”

Mabli's mouth dropped open when she told her what was going to happen Thursday night, but she was more philosophical, to Della's surprise.