Amethyst (4 page)

Mrs. Alma Fisher

Colleen read the letter again. Surely there was some kind of mystery going on here. Why had Melody left Joel with a man not a relative? What had happened to her in those last moments of her life? She had not been well for a long time, but after an attack of the influenza last year and the death of her husband, she had really gone downhill.

How can I leave the farm and go searching for the boy? Who would care for the livestock—and my father?
Winter would be the best time to go because there was no fieldwork and the cow would be drying up around Christmas. But the heifer was due in January.

Colleen finished her soup and bread, poured herself another cup of coffee to sip while she put things away, and wiped off the crumbs. She cradled the hot mug in her hands as she stared out the window. The rain clouds looked to have taken up residency right over the farm. She should have thrown a horse blanket over her father. All she needed was to have him down with the grippe or worse.

Fetching a wool blanket from the linen shelf, she donned her chores coat and a broad-brimmed hat, took the milk pail from the springhouse, and headed for the barn. The cow wouldn’t mind being milked a bit early, and if she waited longer, she’d have to light a lantern. One more thing to fuss with.

She finished the chores and tried to wake her father, who was snoring under the blanket she’d spread over him, but when that effort failed, she let the horses out to pasture and headed for the springhouse. She carried the milk bucket in one hand, eggs nested in straw in a basket in the other. As soon as it turned cold enough, they needed to butcher the two hogs she’d kept for fattening. How could she leave before then?

Lord above, if I am to go, who will do the work around here?

CHAPTER THREE

“You left me in the barn!”

Colleen jerked upright in bed. “What? Who?” She put her hand to her chest to still her thundering heart. The wraith in the doorway staggered slightly. “Pa?”

“Who else would you go leaving in the barn? Like to catch my death out there.”

“I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t wake. I almost left you at the saloon.”

“You left me out there in the cold.”

“I put a blanket over you. You were hot enough to set the hay on fire anyway.”

“You goin’ ter fix me supper?”

She felt her jaw drop. The nerve of him. “If you are hungry, there is bread and cheese. Help yourself.”
I am not getting up now to fix a meal you were too drunk to eat before
.

“Yer mother—”

Colleen closed her eyes. “I am not my mother. I am not your wife. I am your daughter, and I am not getting up.” Where she found the courage to make such a statement was beyond her. “I had to go into that place looking for you. Thankfully, Mr. Peters had the decency to haul you out to the wagon, rather than just throwing you out the door when it came closing time. You are too heavy for me to lift—there’s no way I could have dragged you into the house.”

He turned from the doorway and muttered his way back down the stairs. She waited to hear if he went to the kitchen, but the bedsprings creaked, and she knew he’d gone to bed.

You shouldn’t treat your father that way. The Good Book says to show respect to your parents. That is a sign of godliness.

Had I gone down, he’d have fallen asleep in the chair before the food was ready. Lord, you know I have honored him all these years. I can honor the man but not his drinking. Great God, what do I do?

Let me
.

She lay still, waiting for more. Two words.
Let me
. “But how? I can pray for him. I have. Is that what you mean?” She slipped back into sleep, the puzzlement still there when she woke in the darkest dark, before the line of dawn penciled the horizon or brightened the sky to cobalt. The rooster called up the sun and her. Dressing quickly in the chill, she looked outside for her first of the day checks. All appeared as she’d left it, albeit considerably wetter. Was it still raining when her father woke her? She didn’t remember the song of the eaves, when water cascaded down the roof and dripped to the line of gravel below.

She checked on him, though his snoring had announced his presence when she was still upstairs. At least he’d had the sense to crawl under the covers, even though he’d not undressed—one sleeved arm testified to that.

Let me
. She thought again to the words. Now,
let it be
she understood. And
let it lie
or
let it down
—what she often had to do with her dresses when one hem wore to tatters. She’d let out the hem, trim off the raggedy threads, sew a seam around the bottom, and then hem it back up. One could make a dress appear almost new again with such doings. Her mother had many tricks like that for stretching and reusing everything. “Waste not, want not” had been another of her favorite sayings.

While she pondered, Colleen started the fire, set the coffeepot to cooking, stirred cornmeal into cold water so it wouldn’t go lumpy, and set it on the back of the stove to heat, giving it a good stir every once in a while. By the time she finished milking the cow, the mush would be ready to eat.

When she picked up the bucket out in the springhouse, she checked the pans from the night’s milking. A thick layer of cream floated on top. She’d bring some in with her. Her father loved cream on his mush. And brown sugar. Far as he was concerned, skim milk was good only for hog slop.

He was sitting at the table working on his first cup of coffee when she walked back in the door. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning to you too. Breakfast will be ready in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“I stirred the mush.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was in mighty good humor for someone who’d been yelling at her in the middle of the night.

“You bring in all the supplies by yourself?” He held up his coffee cup, and she refilled it.

“No, it had started to rain, so I left everything in the wagon.”
Including you
. She sliced bread and brought the jam and butter out from the larder to set on the table, then poured the cream from the crock into a pitcher. When she dished up the mush and sat down, he folded his hands, bowed his head, said grace, and started in to eat.

“Musta been right tired last night. Still had my boots on this mornin’.”

Colleen poured some of the cream into her coffee and stirred in a bit of sugar. She wasn’t going to comment on that. “We better be thinking on butchering soon.”

“Art’s goin’ to bring over his two hogs at the first heavy frost. We’ll do ’em together. His missus and the biggest boy’ll come too.”

“When did you talk to him?”

Her father frowned, his eyes wrinkling in puzzlement. “Don’t rightly know, but he said so.” He nodded. “You done good yesterday?”

“Yes, I did. Nothing left to bring home again. Could have sold more butter and eggs. With two cows milking next year, we should do right well. Think I’ll let more of the hens set come spring.”

“Got more of that mush?”

She refilled his bowl and sat back down. “I got a letter yesterday, an answer from Melody’s folks. You want to read it?”

“A’course.”

She fetched the letter and watched as he picked up his knife to slide under the dab of wax, then realized it was already open. He glanced up at her, but she only smiled back.
You were in no shape to read anything. I can’t believe this. It looks to me like you don’t remember a thing that happened. Not waking up in the barn, nothing. Lord, if this is what you meant by
let me,
I give you all the thanks and praise
.

When he finished reading, he looked up. “You got to go find ’im.”

“Who will take care of the livestock while I’m gone? And what will I use for a train ticket?” The two questions sounded insurmountable to her. Like a rocky cliff face on a mountain she’d seen in a picture once.

“I ain’t helpless, ya know. I was milkin’ cows afore I went to school. And I kin cook if need be. You jest find us that boy.”

“How will I pay for the ticket?”

“You got money from yesterday.”

“I paid our bill at the store and bought winter supplies. Paid for them too. Don’t owe a dime now.” She said the last with a bit of pride. She hated owing anyone. Didn’t seem to bother her father none though. And she hadn’t lied to him either—about the money she now had hidden where he’d never find it.

“Well, if that don’t beat all. What an idjit thing to do. Crawford don’t mind none. Just means we keep comin’ back.” He thought a moment. “We could sell the heifer, I s’pose.”

“I’m counting on her milk to tide us over when the cow is dry. Then I can sell cottage cheese and butter all through the year. Been thinking on making soft cheese too.”

“Got to get that boy back here. How much is a ticket?”

“I have no idea.” She looked at him over the cup rim.

“You ask at the station. See about if children are cheaper. Only need one way for him.” He twisted from side to side. She knew what was coming. “I sure got a hitch in my side. Think I better be layin’ down fer a spell. Otherwise I’d take one of the horses and ride on back into town.”

Knowing where he’d end up, she didn’t say anything, not that she had any words that would make a difference anyway.
If you hadn’t stole the money from the sugar tin, there might have been enough for the train tickets
. But what good would bringing that up do? The money was gone, and now he’d have to figure a way to get money for the tickets if he wanted her to go that badly.

A week later the weather changed, and the Soderbergs arrived with most of their family and their hired man just after the rooster’s first crow to begin the day’s labors. Colleen had laid the fires under the scalding tank the night before and had lit them first thing after she woke up. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw all the helpers. How she and three men were going to butcher four hogs in one day had been beyond her.

“Gerry Lynn stayed home to get the little young’uns off to school, and then she’ll be right on over.” Mrs. Soderberg climbed down from the wagon and hefted two baskets of food out of the back, giving her two little ones instructions to stay away from the fire and out of the way of the menfolk.

“Can I help you?” Colleen hustled out to the wagon, where she saw two more baskets, several crocks, and a meat grinder. “My, you did come prepared.”

“Wasn’t sure what all you had.” She set her baskets on the kitchen table. “I sure do miss your ma. Life just ain’t been the same since she died.”

Colleen swallowed the tears that snuck up on her whenever someone mentioned her mother. “Me too. Never a day goes by that I don’t think on something she’d say.”

“She knew her Bible. That was for sure. Better’n the preacher knows his, I’m thinkin’, at times. But don’t you go tellin’ him I said that.”