A Woman Named Damaris (24 page)
Then the adults exchanged their simple gifts and Damaris left the children to play under the supervision of Miss Dover while she joined Gil in the kitchen to wash the dinner dishes.
“How are things going?” he asked when they were alone.
“Good,” she replied honestly. “Oh, there are some bad days—and bad nights. Especially with William, but for the most part, things are going fine.”
“I notice he is still coughing,” went on Gil.
“I’m waiting for spring,” said Damaris. “I pray that with the warm weather and sunshine he will get over it.”
“Does he still waken and cry at night for his mother?”
“Not recently. He seems to be slowly adjusting.”
“It’s been hard for you, hasn’t it?” Gil asked directly.
Damaris nodded. She could not deny it. But things were gradually getting better for all of them.
———
With the coming of spring and the return to sunshine, Damaris moved her little family outside as much as she could. They busied themselves planting a garden. Mrs. Boyle gave them a hen with nine chicks and they built a little pen and took great pleasure in watching the chicks grow. They cleaned the yard of its clutter and trimmed the bushes by the door, raked the path, and picked up the tangled branches at the back of the house for fire wood.
Damaris longed to paint the house, but she knew they could never afford it. She managed to be content keeping the window glass shining and the curtains inside fresh and clean.
As Damaris had hoped, William’s health began to improve. He lost his hacking cough and his constantly runny nose and even began to put on some weight. Damaris was pleased to see his cheeks fill out and his little arms and legs begin to lose their scrawny appearance.
Baby Tootles began to say more words. Daily, it seemed, she added to her vocabulary, making the older children hoot and giggle with her attempts at mimicking.
“Isn’t she funny,” laughed Abbie. “She says ‘ink’ for drink an’ ‘popo’ for porridge.”
William laughed at his little sister, too, and Tootles just sat and grinned merrily, happy to be the center of attention.
———
“How would you and the kids like to visit the ranch?” asked Gil one day when he stopped to see how they were doing.
Damaris could not even be heard above the din that went up from Abbie and William. Even Tootles joined in, sure that something exciting must be taking place to make her older siblings holler so.
“Well,” chuckled Gil, “I guess that settles it.”
Damaris nodded. She had never been to Gil’s ranch. Had never really expected to, but the outing would be good for the children. In fact, she admitted when she was able to give it a bit of thought, it would be nice to drive out in the countryside for a change.
“When would you like to go?” asked Gil.
“Why, I don’t know. Any nice day,” responded Damaris.
“Let’s go today. Let’s go today,” called Abbie. William began to call after her, “Today. Today.” Then Tootles took up the serenade, “Day. Day,” she called loudly, her eyes glistening with the fun of it all.
“Sh-h,” quieted Damaris. She could scarcely think, let alone talk. The clamor settled down and Damaris ventured an answer. “I guess we shouldn’t wait too long,” she replied, “or I will get no peace and quiet.”
Gil grinned. “I’ll try to arrange it so that I can stay over next Sunday after our Sunday school classes and we’ll go bright and early Monday morning,” he promised.
Damaris nodded her agreement and Abbie could not resist one more cheer.
The family sat together on the high seat of the buckboard. Tootles sat on Damaris’s lap, tucked securely within the arc of her arms. Gil held William, who clutched the end of the reins, pretending he had control of the team. Abbie sat between them, one hand extended each way, resting gently on the adults who framed her.
The day was bright and sunny and the whole mood was one of celebration.
“I’ve never been on a visit before,” said Abbie, bouncing with anticipation.
Damaris looked down and smiled. It was good for the children to get away from their own yard. It was good for her also. She had not been beyond the confines of the town since arriving there with the wagons from the east.
With that thought came memories of home. They were no longer painful to Damaris. She could think of her mama without the awful battles of guilt and of her father without the bitterness becoming strong in her mouth.
“Did I tell you I had a letter from my mama?” she asked Gil.
His eyes focused on her face.
“They are fine,” Damaris went on quickly, reading the interest and concern in his deep blue eyes. “I—I wrote to them after—after I finally made peace with—with my past.”
There was a moment’s silence before Damaris went on.
“I really didn’t know what to say. I mean, I couldn’t truthfully say I was sorry I had left. I couldn’t even say ‘I forgive you’ because—well, because that would be saying that they were—wrong. So, I just shared with them my—my experience of reading the Bible and understanding that I could have forgiveness for—for my past—everything. And about the—the peace I have felt since. Then I told them I loved them and hoped they were getting along fine.”
Gil nodded.
“It made me feel better,” went on Damaris, surprised that she was sharing so much of herself with the man beside her. It did feel good to let it spill out, though.
“And she answered you,” said Gil.
Damaris knew he understood how much the letter had meant to her. “I’m going to write them again,” said Damaris, “and tell them about the children.”
Her eyes circled the three little ones who accompanied them, and love glowed there.
Gil did not miss it.
“Look,” shouted Abbie, breaking into the conversation, “a eagle!”
Damaris and Gil both laughed. “It’s not an eagle, honey. It’s a crow,” said Damaris. “Perhaps we’ll find you an eagle before we get to the ranch.”
Abbie’s young eyes took in everything along the way, but William kept his eyes on the team, content to sit and yell occasional instructions to the horses. They hadn’t gone far at all when Tootles fell asleep.
“I thought that might happen,” said Gil, “so I threw in a few blankets. You can make a bed for her here at our feet.”
Gil stopped the team while he arranged the blankets, and Damaris laid the child down. Already her arms and back had begun to ache from the weight of the little body. She flexed them to take out the kinks. The ride resumed with Damaris and Abbie playing their own little game of “I spy.”
The sun rose higher in the sky. William’s eyelids drooped, but he refused to give up his grip on the reins and join Tootles on the bed on the floor.
“It’s a long, long way to the ranch,” Abbie observed.
Gil chuckled. “We are almost there,” he told her. “It’s right over that next hill.”
Even Damaris was pleased to hear the news.
As they topped the last hill, Damaris saw a neat yard with a barn and corrals off to the left and a trim little unpainted house tucked against a stand of trees on the right.
“Oh, Gil,” she said before she could stop her tongue. “It’s perfect.”
Gil looked more than pleased. He looked elated.
“You like it? Well, I will admit that it suits a bachelor fine, but a woman might see a good number of things that she’d want fixed up—just like Mother says.”
Damaris let her eyes travel from the outdoor pump to the small vegetable garden to the hammock stretched lazily between two trees. A smile lighted her eyes. Right in that little spot between the barn and the garden would be a great place for a chicken pen, she was thinking. Then she blushed at the thought.
“What’s all them things in that big pen?” asked William.
“You mean, you haven’t seen cows before?” asked Gil.
William shook his head.
“Yes, he has,” cut in Abbie, nodding her head vigorously and making her braids bounce back and forth. “He just forgetted.”
“Those are some new ones I just bought,” explained Gil. “I’m keeping them there for a few days before turning them out on the range.”
“They look nice,” observed Damaris.
Gil beamed. “They are good stock,” he admitted. “They should help build up my herd.”
The team wanted to travel right past the house and on to the barn but Gil reined them in. “I’ll help you get these little ones inside,” he said, “and then the first order of business should be something to eat.”
“Yeah,” said Abbie, clapping her hands together. “I’m hungry.”
Damaris and Gil both laughed. Gil helped Damaris and Abbie down and then passed the sleeping Tootles to Damaris. “Lay her on my bed,” he instructed softly.
Abbie was already scurrying about the yard exploring everything at hand. William still clutched the reins, determined to be in the wagon for as long as it moved. “I’ll take this one with me,” said Gil as he swung up onto the high seat again.
Damaris was surprised when she entered the house. It was bigger than it looked from the outside. In fact, it contained four rooms, one of them used as storage.
The kitchen was roomy, though not large. A small cupboard sat snugly against one wall and a large kitchen range stood firmly against another. At one end stood a table, its bare wood gleaming in the sun that streamed through the window. There were no curtains, no fussing. Things were plain—but polished clean.
Damaris took in every detail of the room and then crossed to the next, the living room. A big stone fireplace took almost all of one wall. Two chairs faced it and between them was a small table on which lay Gil’s Bible. There were no rugs on the floor and a lone calendar graced the wall. It looked bare and simple—but homey.
Damaris walked on to the bedroom at the back. It was another simple room. The bed was neatly made, a colorful Navajo blanket spread across the top. Articles of clothing hung from hooks on the wall. There was no clutter.
“Well, I do see what Miss Dover means,” grinned Damaris. “It certainly is untrimmed.”
But Damaris liked what she saw.
She laid Tootles on the bed and covered her lightly with a corner of the blanket. Then she returned to the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if she should wait for Gil or go ahead with dinner preparations. She dawdled for a moment, running her hand over the polished wood of the table. Then she crossed to the window and looked out into the yard.
Gil was on his way in with William hoisted up on his neck. The boy’s hands were buried in the depths of Gil’s brown curly hair, and Gil’s Stetson was falling down over William’s eyes. Even from the distance, Damaris could see the pleased look on the little boy’s face. Abbie was bouncing along ahead of Gil, talking excitedly and waving a hand now and then at the corral and its cattle.
The revelation came to Damaris without warning. She lifted a hand to her breast and a little gasp caught in her throat. At that very moment she realized with startling clarity that she loved Gil Lewis. She closed her eyes tightly and put out a hand to stop the room from swirling around her.
She loved him! Her fear of him had long ago changed to comfort, then to respect, then sharing, and a measure of dependency. But when had her feelings turned to love? She had no business loving him. What would she ever do now?
Her first thought was to flee. But that was impossible.
He’ll know,
she said to herself.
He’ll see it in my face and I’ll be so embarrassed.
Then she firmly reprimanded herself. “Be calm,” she said aloud and firmly. “You’ve hidden your feelings before. Surely you can do it again.”
So Damaris steeled herself once more and turned back to the big stove. But much of the excitement had gone out of the day. She prayed that it would end quickly and without incident.
It was a long, agonizing day for Damaris. She was glad for the distraction of the children. Tootles awoke from her nap in a sour mood. Even after Damaris fed her dinner, she still fussed and complained. Gil tried to entertain her but she only clung more tightly to Damaris. And Damaris was more than happy to have the excuse of comforting the child.
William, on the other hand, did not wish to leave Gil’s side.
He needs a father,
thought Damaris, but that idea only brought more anguish.
Abbie was everywhere, chatting, giggling, exploring, skipping. She was a bundle of energy and a constant talker.
“What’s that horse’s name?
“Who hoes the garden?
“Do you shoot things with that gun?
“Why do you live here by yourself? Why don’t you have a fam’bly?”
And then she turned to Damaris and asked, “How do you use that thing, Mama?” and pointed to the hammock.
Damaris could tell by the quick lift of Gil’s head that he had not heard the child call her Mama before.
Damaris willed her voice to be steady. “It’s called a hammock,” she answered evenly. “Folks lie in it to rest.”
“Can I try it?”
Gil took Abbie to the hammock and, after much laughter and scrambling, finally managed to get the young child properly settled. She smiled smugly as Gil gently rocked her back and forth. And then William had to have his turn, and while he rocked, Tootles went to Gil and held up her arms, determined that she would not be left out of the fun.
Finally it was time to go home. Gil placed fresh hay on the floor of the wagon box and spread the blankets over it.
“Unless I miss my guess,” he explained, “we are going to have three sleeping children before we get to town.”
Damaris nodded. “Maybe four,” she replied with a grin.
Gil was right. They hadn’t traveled far before all three children were bundled together on the hay bed, sleeping soundly after their exciting day.
They traveled together in silence. Gil seemed deep in thought and Damaris was afraid to speak lest she betray her feelings.
“Do you think it’s time we gave Tootles her real name?” Gil surprised Damaris by asking.
Damaris smiled. “I’ve been thinking of calling her Florrie,” she admitted.
“Florrie. I like that. It suits her.”
Silence gently enfolded them. In spite of her troubling thoughts and trembling spirit, Damaris felt at peace. She wished she could cling to this moment. They were almost home before Gil spoke again. He seemed hesitant—but determined.
