A Woman Named Damaris (12 page)
“I was going to. In fact, I made my arrangements with the army. I was to return with a train the next month—but then I got a notice that Papa had died. He was all I had—back home. I saw no reason for going then. I dreaded the thought of that long, dusty trip. So I asked the army to get me to the closest town, and they brought me here. I got a small inheritance from my father’s estate, and I opened up this little shop. I have been here ever since. My, I guess that was over thirty years ago now.”
There was silence in the room. Miss Dover seemed to have gone back in time. Damaris wondered if she was seeing the dashing young man in his army uniform or listening to the voice of her father.
Slowly Damaris began to move the needle again, in and out around the patch she was sewing on a pair of men’s trousers. Soon Miss Dover stirred and the machine began to whir again. Damaris heard her speak, though her voice was little more than a whisper. “That was a long, long time ago.”
Damaris said nothing.
Then Miss Dover surprised her with a sudden question. “Did you ever have a young man you cared about?”
Damaris was too embarrassed to respond at first, but finally, with flaming cheeks, she shook her head slowly. “No,” she said honestly, “I never have.”
“Well, you will,” predicted Miss Dover. “You have most attractive eyes. Men will notice them.”
Damaris shook her head slowly. She had made up her mind long ago. She had no interest in marrying—anybody, ever.
“Do you like parties?” asked Miss Dover.
“I—I don’t think so,” she answered.
“Well, maybe we should find out. Would you like me to have a party and—”
“Oh no,” cut in Damaris, fear showing in her eyes. “I—I mean—I don’t know any of the young folk of the town and—”
“But it would be a way to get to know them,” went on Miss Dover.
“I—I’d rather not—really,” said Damaris, her face now pale with concern.
Miss Dover let it pass, but she wondered why a pretty young girl like Damaris would have such strong feelings about parties. Instead of asking, she changed the subject.
“You have a beautiful name,” she said. “I have never heard it before. Is it a family name?”
Color washed the girl’s cheeks once more. She even lifted her head briefly and peeked over her needle at the older woman as she spoke.
“It’s from the Bible,” she said, pride coloring her voice.
“From the Bible?”
Damaris nodded again. If there was anything personal she had the slightest pride about it was her Bible name.
“We should look it up,” said Miss Dover.
“You—you have a Bible?” Damaris could hardly believe the good fortune.
“Oh yes. I have a Bible. I don’t know how I would ever have survived without it.”
Miss Dover rose from her chair and left the sewing room for her small suite of living quarters beyond. She returned with a black book in her hand. Damaris saw that it looked just like the ones the people carried when they entered the little church back home on Sunday, all dressed in their finest clothes. It was all she could do to keep from reaching out for the book.
Miss Dover sat down and opened the Bible across her knees. “Do you know where it speaks of Damaris?” she asked.
Damaris was disappointed. She had hoped Miss Dover would be able to tell her.
She shook her head slowly. “Mama didn’t say—an’ we didn’t have a Bible—anymore.”
“Well, we’ll just have to look for it then,” said Miss Dover, and she closed the book, laid it aside, and returned to her sewing.
Damaris could hardly stand it. There lay the book with her name within easy reach—and she had to sit and ply her needle in and out of the tough material, sewing patches onto worn overalls.
“It has always bothered me that there is no church here,” Miss Dover remarked. “That is the thing I have missed the most about home. Year after year I have prayed that God would send this town a minister—and I still pray. I believe that someday—perhaps soon—the answer will come.”
Damaris did not look up. She knew that church and the Bible book were somehow connected, but she really didn’t know just how.
“It pains me to see the children of the town growing up without any knowledge of God,” went on Miss Dover. “Why, I never would have gotten through those difficult times had I not had Him. I was so thankful that my mama and my papa had given me a strong base of faith. When I couldn’t understand, then I could—could just trust. I knew without doubt that God still loved me—and He wouldn’t forsake me.”
Damaris had no idea what the woman was talking about. She listened politely, making no comment, but the words were totally foreign to her. She had, somewhere in her past, heard references to God. She couldn’t remember when or where—oh yes, her mama had mentioned something. But Damaris had never heard talk about trust—or about God loving people. But then, Miss Dover was an easy person to love. Perhaps God did love her.
The bell at the door jangled and a woman entered the room. She was tall and straight and her stern expression warned the world not to cross her. Damaris recognized her as Mrs. Henry, a woman she had waited on in Mr. MacKenzie’s store. At first she had been terrified of the lady. In fact, she wondered if Mr. MacKenzie himself was not a little frightened of her. Damaris had noticed that he was always busy with something when Mrs. Henry entered the premises so that Damaris had to look after the customer.
Miss Dover did not seem to mind the stern-faced lady. She rose from her chair and smiled her warm smile. “Mrs. Henry. Good morning. I have your things ready for you. Right here. My, Mary must have grown. These dresses are a good six inches longer than the last ones I sewed for her.”
Mrs. Henry did not beam and speak lovingly of her growing daughter. Instead, she scowled and commented about the child costing her a fortune with her growing spurts.
“And how is Mr. Henry? I heard he had a bout with a chest cold.”
“You heard right. He’s kept me waiting on him all winter. And I had to do his share of the work besides.”
“Well, now that spring is finally here,” went on Miss Dover, “perhaps he will be able to shake the illness and regain his strength.”
“I certainly hope so,” the woman retorted. “I’ve had about all I can take. And now the spring work is starting, I have no intention of shouldering that burden all alone.”
She gathered her sewn dresses for Mary, paid her bill with some grumbling, and left without a “good-day.”
“Well,” Miss Dover sighed after the door had closed, “they say it takes all kinds of people to make our world, but I often wonder just what it is that shapes them into what they are. Now take Mrs. Henry—what do you suppose has happened in her past to make her so—so sad and troubled all the time?”
Damaris thought about repeating what Mr. MacKenzie had said, that she was a sour old buzzard—out looking for someone’s bones to pick. But she held her tongue.
“People like her need extra kindness,” Miss Dover said. “Just think of the pain she must have buried inside.”
Damaris had never thought about such things before. She had always taken people at face value, never trying to figure out the reasons for their behavior. It was difficult for her just to serve Mrs. Henry without making her more upset. Damaris always sighed with relief when the woman was finally out the door. Miss Dover seemed to feel it her duty to try to understand the woman and apply some healing balm to whatever was hurting her.
It was all strange to Damaris. She didn’t know what made Miss Dover so kind any more than she knew what made Mrs. Henry so mean—but she was glad to be able to spend some of her time at the kind woman’s little shop.
“Would you like to borrow a Bible?” asked Miss Dover when Damaris wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and prepared to run back through the light rain to help Mrs. Stacy.
Damaris was so caught by surprise that she could not even answer.
Miss Dover must have seen the light in her eyes. “I can’t spare mine,” she said, “but Papa’s is here. You may borrow it if you wish.”
She left Damaris standing while she went to get it.
Damaris knew the Bible must be precious to Miss Dover. “I’ll take special care of it,” she promised, tucking it under her shawl away from the rain.
Miss Dover nodded and smiled. “I’m sure you will.”
Damaris rushed home. She could scarcely bear the thought of laying the book in her room until she had completed her tasks. If only she could crawl off by herself and curl up and read and read until she discovered the story about the woman named Damaris.
But she had work to do. The boarders had to be fed. The guests had to be served. There was wood and water to haul. Dishes to do. Floors to sweep. The list went on and on.
At last Damaris finished her work and put aside her apron. She could still hear the voices of Mrs. Stacy and Mr. Hebert from the dining room. Whenever Mr. Hebert came to town, it meant more duties for Damaris because Mrs. Stacy would sit and chat and laugh with the gentleman, leaving Damaris alone to do the dishes and clean up.
Damaris no longer needed to wait for Mrs. Stacy to give leave for her to go to her room. She knew each task that needed to be cared for, and as soon as it was accomplished, she was free to retire.
She hurriedly removed her day clothes and climbed into Miss Dover’s hand-me-down flannel nightie. Then she checked her lamp to be sure it had lots of oil, snuggled down under her blankets, and gently picked up the worn Bible of Miss Dover’s papa.
She turned the first few pages, past the inscription of King James, past the table of contents, and on to a page that bore the title “Genesis.” It looked to Damaris that this was the place to begin. She snuggled down against her pillow, eager to get started.
It was a strange story. All about God creating things. Damaris had wondered how everything had come into existence. Then God made man—and that seemed to be a mistake. But Damaris read on.
The door slammed as Mr. Hebert took his leave. Damaris wondered briefly why the man had chosen to ride on home with the drizzling rain still falling. She turned back to the pages. What Mr. Hebert chose to do was of little concern to her.
Then she heard Mrs. Stacy moving about the house, checking this and locking that. At last the steps retreated and Damaris heard a door close softly.
Still Damaris read on. The book was filled with many stories but no mention of Damaris. Damaris was disappointed, but she continued reading. She was bound to find her story if she read far enough.
She read of a flood that covered the whole earth. Only a few people survived. She wondered what it would have been like to be shut up in the big boat with all the animals. Damaris decided that she would have liked it. She had always preferred animals to people.
She read of Joseph—the boy who was sold by his brothers. Damaris felt anger and hate fill her whole being. When the brothers went to Egypt to buy grain, Damaris read more quickly. Now Joseph could get even for what they had done to him. But instead he forgave them. She couldn’t understand his response.
The hall clock kept ticking and Damaris kept reading. Still no sign of “Damaris.” The stories kept drawing her on, but she’d had a long, busy day. Her eyelids started to droop. She could read no further.
As the Bible began to slip from her fingers, Damaris jerked to attention. She mustn’t drop the book. She placed it carefully in the drawer in the stand beside her bed. Then she blew out her light, snuggled down under the covers once more, and let her eyes close.
“I didn’t find her,” she murmured to herself. “I didn’t find her. All of those people—and no Damaris.”
———
Damaris was beginning to put the townspeople’s names and faces together. Her three part-time jobs helped her do the matching. If she didn’t see them in the dining room at Mrs. Stacy’s boardinghouse, she might see them picking up mending or new garments at Miss Dover’s sewing room. And if she didn’t see them at either of those places, she was almost sure to serve them at some time at Mr. MacKenzie’s store.
Even though Damaris could name almost everyone in the community, she really could claim none as her friends—with perhaps the exception of Miss Dover.
Mr. MacKenzie, though kind enough to Damaris, could be gruff and curt. Damaris took and obeyed orders and stayed as far away from the store owner as space would allow. Mrs. Stacy was nice enough, but she did seem to take advantage of Damaris. She obviously realized she had made herself a very good deal. Damaris worked hard and well, ate little, and demanded nothing. Mrs. Stacy had far more time to socialize than ever before, which was particularly enjoyable when Mr. Hebert came to town.
Miss Dover was gentle and kind. She dressed simply yet neatly. She spoke words of kindness wherever she went. Men always doffed their hats and women always smiled a good morning, and even children grinned and pressed a little closer when Miss Dover walked the streets. She was to Damaris everything that a true lady should be. Without realizing it, Damaris tried to pattern her own conduct after that of Miss Dover.
The kind woman seemed to genuinely enjoy Damaris’s company and expressed interest in all her employee was doing. Damaris could not understand or explain why, but she felt comfortable with Miss Dover—as though a very important part of herself was able to function—to exist—in the presence of the older woman.
So Damaris spent her days rushing through duties at the boardinghouse and the store so she could run breathlessly across the street, slide into a chair beside her mending basket, and enjoy Miss Dover’s presence.
On one such day, Damaris took her place and reached for her needle and an item of mending.
“What are you reading now?” Miss Dover asked. The Bible had become a usual topic of their conversation.
“About King David,” answered Damaris, lifting her eyes from her work for a moment.
“Ah—King David. He is one of my favorite Bible characters. If I had ever been blessed with a son, I would have called him David.”
Miss Dover sighed. Damaris imagined that the memory of her lost love must still cause her pain.
