Carla Kelly (39 page)

Della thought it prudent to leave the letter home when Owen escorted her to choir practice, but she brought along the railroad vouchers.

“What a kind man is your uncle,” Owen said, looking them over. “If you don't think I'm being forward, I'd like to write him a thank-you note.”

“Three Ninety East Center Street, Provo,” she said. “He'll be pleased to hear from you.”

“I've carved a little box for him.”

“You'll be the best guest he ever had,” Della said. She frowned.

“What's the matter, Butterbean?” he said gently. “I know that expression from the upper wagon road. Hoped I wouldn't see it again.”

“Aunt Amanda invited my Uncle Karl for Thanksgiving too, and I'm … not quite ready to see him.”

“You won't be alone, Della,” he told her. “Come along now, or we'll be late. You have to call the roll, remember?”

“And that is as big a lie as I hope you ever tell me!” she said, happy to be diverted. “The choir does not need a secretary.”

Owen tucked her arm through his to get her in motion. “
I
need a secretary. And you
won't
be alone.” He chuckled. “Angharad is so excited. This will be her first trip outside of Pleasant Valley. Think of that.”

She did, in the week that followed before the holiday, touched at the way the women of the canyon, Angharad's many mothers, saw that Owen's daughter had a new dress for Provo; a real hat and not a knit cap; and a pair of new black shoes that Annie Jones insisted Myfanwy had only worn once before they were too small.

Even the Finnish women transferred a portion of their affection from Della to Angharad. One afternoon after the day shift, Heikki helped Mari Elvena carry her large leather suitcase to Della.

“I want you and Angharad to lend this for to pack both your cloe and her cloe,” Mari said, with great concentration, followed by a wry expression. “I do not think that is quite right.”

“Very close,” Della said. “Angharad and I can
borrow
this. And I think you mean
clothes
. There is no singular to clothes, although I do believe cloe is more logical.”

“English is not logical,” Mari said with a sigh. She brightened and took hold of Della's arm. “When you return, you are invited to sauna with us.”

“Sauna? Oh, my.”

Mari nodded, then took Heikki's hand. “We only invite our friends. What you did for Kristina Aho …” She stopped and stood a little taller. “Friends do not forget friends. Not ever.”

Angharad could barely contain her excitement as she brought her clothes to Mabli's to pack after school let out early on Wednesday. “Will I like Provo?” she asked, handing her much-worn flannel nightgown to Della, who folded it tighter and made a note to herself to sew Angharad a warmer one for Christmas.

“You will love Provo,” she assured the child. “I am going to take you to the Palace Drug Store for a cherry phosphate.”

“Will I like that?”

“Are you human?”

They laughed together. Della wrapped Myfanwy's shoes in a dish towel and put them in the suitcase, along with her rose talc, after Angharad had a good whiff and declared it heavenly.

“I'm taking along my five dollars,” Angharad confided. “I want to buy my da a new cravat for Christmas and maybe milk chocolate, if I have enough. He loves chocolate.”

“When he's talking to the piano tuner, you and I will shop,” Della assured her. “You will have enough.”

They were packed and ready to leave, Angharad impatient in Mabli's front room, and Della watching out the window for Owen. She knew he had worked six days straight through, except Sunday, to make up for the lost days coming up in Provo. Still, she wasn't prepared for the look of exhaustion on his face as he approached Mabli's house. He couldn't see her as she stood back from the lace curtain. With a pang, Della watched him square his shoulders, obviously determined not to show his exhaustion to his daughter.

“Why do you have to mine coal?” she murmured.

Della assured Owen she could carry Mari Elvena's suitcase as far as the tipple, to ride the coach reserved for Scofield miners heading off shift. He wouldn't hear of it and carried it over her protests.

“Back off, ye black-faced boyos,” the engineer growled, as he spread out a blanket on a bench for them. “Ladies, have a seat, if you please. Owen, you're clean. Sit here too, but mind your manners.”

She hadn't thought he would ever blush, but Owen did, which made his friends laugh. He said something that must have been pithy in Welsh, because the laughter stopped, even if the grins didn't.

“Tight fit, this,” he murmured, taking Angharad on his lap. “Warm too.”

“Owen, it's snowing and ten degrees,” she pointed out, then was kind enough to look out the sooty window and try not to laugh.

Uncle Jesse's vouchers impressed the stationmaster at the depot in Scofield. Others headed elsewhere for Thanksgiving filled up the single railcar as the coal cars were coupled on behind, with a bump, a nudge, and a creak of wheels for each car.

Owen glanced behind him and kissed the top of his daughter's head. “One of those cars has coal your da mined today,” he said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

He must have seen something in Della's expression. “How did your da feel about silver?” he asked.

“The same,” she told him simply.

The train had its head of steam when Israel Bowman jumped on. “We can leave now,” he said, and everyone laughed.

Owen set his daughter by the window, and she stared out as the train started. “I am satisfied,” she announced. She caught her father's grin and gave him a look of some dignity. “That is a spelling word for the third grade.”

“Can you spell it?” he asked.

“S-A-T-I-S-F-I-E-D.”

“You're right,” Della said. “Angharad, Myfanwy Jones, and John Farish take the third grade spelling test every week, as well as their own. That makes me as proud as coal makes you proud.”

“Makes me more proud than coal, I vow,” he told her.

He looked out the window. “I haven't left this valley in seven years, and Israel Bowman goes to Provo every week to see his sweetheart. Is my world too small, Della?”

She thought about it. “I don't know. You're the one to decide that.”

He returned his gaze to the landscape. Della watched dusk come quickly, steeling herself against fear as the train, pushed by tons and tons of coal in the railcars, picked up speed and started down the mountain. She couldn't help sucking in her breath every time the engine braked, and every time the tracks curved to follow the contour of the mountains. She closed her eyes, afraid, as she remembered the ascent in late August and how much it had terrified her then. The descent was more frightening.

“Come here, Della,” Owen said, startling her. “Sit next to me. You're afraid.”

She did as he said without a word. “Aren't you afraid?” she asked, wanting to lean against him.

“I mine coal,” he said. “Why would I fear this? Don't think me more forward than the average man, but could you use a cuddle like Angharad?”

She nodded, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would betray her. He put his arm around her and pulled her close to him. He was kind enough not to comment on her tremor, every time the engine braked and the cars swayed from side to side. She glanced at Angharad, who was tucked closed to his other side, her eyes big with fright too.

“Good thing you have two sides,” Della murmured.

“Just as nature planned, Butterbeans,” he told them both. He leaned toward Della. “I was in a cave-in in Number Four a few years ago. We secured ourselves behind a brat-tice—it's a canvas curtain to channel air. Two tenors and three basses. We sang until they dug us out. Want to sing, you two?”

Della nodded.

“Any favorites, Angharad? Della?”

“ ‘A Happy Band of Children,’ ” Angharad said promptly, her eyes still worried.

“You give the note. It's a G,” he told her. “Just close your eyes and think it through, and let's see how close you get.”

Della watched as Angharad did as her father said, then sang a note as pure as any note he ever sang. She held her breath, hoping the child was right, and smiled when Owen nodded, obviously impressed.

“Right on, sweetheart. I couldn't have done it better.” He kissed Angharad's cheek. “I suppose you can stay in the family now.”

“Oh, Da,” Angharad murmured.

“Give me the note again, and we'll start. Oh, yes.” He pulled a copy of Deseret Songs from his overcoat pocket and handed it to Della. “For the less gifted.”

Della cracked him on the head with it.

“Need another note, Butterbean?” Owen asked Della. “Sing loud now,” he said and began. “ ‘A happy band of children, all joyous, blithe and free …’ ”

As they sang the first verse, soprano, alto, and tenor, the passengers stopped talking. By the second verse, others joined in. After the last line—“And bless Thy church and kingdom, Thy little servants pray”—the non-singers applauded.

Della felt the fear leave, thinking of the line before—“O Lord, do Thou watch o'er us, And keep us day by day”—as the branch train loaded with coal and little servants raced, jerked, and braked its way down the steep incline toward Colton and the main line. She probably could have told Owen she wasn't so afraid now, but his arm around her was comforting.

Other hymns followed until they reached Colton, but Della remembered what Bishop Parmley had told her.
The Lord is mindful of me
, she thought.

Della knew Jesse Knight would have a carriage waiting for them at the depot when the train pulled into Provo after midnight, but she hadn't expected him to be there with Aunt Amanda too, her arms out to welcome them. Her generous embrace soon included a sleepy Angharad, held in Della's arms as Jesse Knight shook hands with Owen.

When they reached the house, Aunt Amanda took her and Angharad upstairs to her turret sewing room, where the couch Della had slept on last fall had been replaced by a bed. “You and Angharad can sleep here. Every little princess needs to wake up in her own turret. I'll leave you to help her.”

“Better ask Owen up too. He and Angharad always have a prayer,” Della said, as she helped the child from her clothes and into the lovely flannel nightgown that Aunt Amanda had left on the bed.

“Da?” Angharad asked.

“Right here,” Owen said from the doorway, hesitant to enter.

“Come on in,” Della said. “It's a tight squeeze. Aunt Amanda let me sleep here last fall, just because I wanted to. I'll leave you two to have prayer.”

Owen came into the room, skirting past her, and took her hand when she started to leave. “Pray with us.”

She knelt beside the bed with Owen and Angharad, watching how they twined their arms. When Owen held out his arm, she hesitated, then twined her arm through his, bowing her head as Angharad prayed in Welsh and then her father.

“Your turn,” he whispered.

She prayed for her students and the Knights, the prophet and everyone in Winter Quarters Canyon, then said amen. Owen kissed his daughter and tucked her in bed. He sat beside her and sang “All Through the Night” in Welsh and then looked at her.

“Your turn,” he said again.

She sang the first verse in English, and Owen harmonized in Welsh. By the time they finished, Angharad was breathing evenly, her face relaxed. Owen watched her a moment.

“Does she look like her mother?” Della asked.

“Very like,” he said. “Gwyna was a beautiful woman, and so her daughter will be.”

“What does her name mean?”

“Beloved. Gwyna named her before she died.” He closed his eyes. “I'm tired.”

“Don't know why,” she said, as she followed him down the winding stairs from the turret. “You've only been working six days straight, mining a couple tons of coal.”

“I would like to sleep late, maybe to seven o'clock,” he told her as they entered the main hall, where Amanda waited.

“All tucked in, Mr. Davis?”

“Aye. Angharad is of a more practical turn of mind than her da. I believe she would give up the bedtime rituals, but I am not ready yet.” He yawned. “Do forgive that.”

His hostess laughed softly. “Jesse already bailed out. Della, I put Brother Davis in the room with the blue wall-paper. Show him down there, then come to the kitchen for a moment, if you please.”

Della nodded and led the way down the main hall to one of the guest rooms. “Here you are. You'll find everything about where you would in your own place, except there is an indoor lavatory at the end of the hall.”

He took that in, his own eyes drooping. “And how do I … uh …”

Della smiled, unembarrassed. “Just pull the chain. Good night.”

Amanda was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the carved box Owen must have given her when she was getting Angharad ready for bed. “This is exquisite,” she said. “Would it be rude of me to ask him to carve me two of these before Christmas so I could give them as gifts? I would certainly pay, and pay well.”

“I'll ask him. If he has time, he'll oblige you.” She rubbed her eyes and leaned her head on Amanda's shoulder, gratified as her aunt's arm went around her waist. “Oh, Aunt, all he wants to do tomorrow morning is sleep until seven! He worked six straight days so he could not lose any hours in the mine.”