Carla Kelly (49 page)

“I think I love Mr. Auerbach,” she said, blowing her nose on handkerchief number three. “So you came here to collect me and let me cry? Why are you so intelligent?”

He smiled at that. “Simple, Butterbean: I know women. I was married to one, and I am raising another. God bless the ladies, but you are a species apart.”

She gave a little shriek when the train began to hiss and vibrate, then move in reverse. “What's happening?” she asked, not even trying to hide the quaver in her voice.

“I have my suspicions; you won't like this. Probably the coal train is coming down from Scofield, and coal waits for no man. That crew must have shoveled through to us. The train ahead will probably back us down to a siding, shunt us off and keep going.”

Della moaned. “How far?”

“Not more than a half mile since our last siding. Buck up, Della. Things could be worse. You could be stuck in Salt Lake City with your relatives.”

She gave him a fishy look, then started to smile. “I could be. Instead, I'm having an adventure in the company of a man who understands the ladies. If I get really frightened and throw up, just overlook that.”

“I didn't bring a bucket, so you're not allowed! That was the one thing Angharad did occasionally that made me go green.”

“If you were a primary grades teacher, you would grow used to such emergencies.”
That's it, Della, keep your conversation going
, she thought.

When the train reversed faster, she closed her eyes. “Sing to me,” she whispered. “I'm afraid.”

He started to sing “Sweet Is the Work,” but got no farther than “… to show thy love by morning light,” and stopped. She opened her eyes to see his eyes closed and a frown on his face. She thought to tease him—wasn't he supposed to keep
her
from terror?—but there was something sad in his expression that prevented her. She started to hum then, humming through all the verses as he remained silent. In her own concern for him, she forgot about her fear as their train backed down the mountain, pushed by coal that would not stop for anything or anyone.

Just as Owen had predicted, the train shunted onto the siding and the coal roared past, shaking the cars. Della breathed slowly in and out, calming herself and praying for the silent man seated beside her. Something had happened, and she didn't know what it was.

With a lurch and a hiss, the train started back onto the main track. Della hadn't realized she was breathing too fast until Owen put his hand over hers. She looked up, hoping his expression was more benign, but the sorrow lingered. Looking at his face, she thought of the high meadow, when she had bared her whole soul to someone she barely knew at the time, because her pain was so great. It was Owen's turn; Della knew.

“That fourth handkerchief,” was all she said.

He took it out and tried to hand it to her, but she pushed it gently back into his hand. “In the high meadow, you told me you had your own boulder.”

“Aye, miss.”

“Maybe you should tell me why ‘Sweet Is the Work’ made you so sad.”

He was a long time silent. “It wasn't the song—it was what you said. Remember?”

She shook her head unsure. “I was afraid.”

“You said, ‘Sing to me. I'm afraid,’ ” he reminded her. He took a ragged breath. “That was what Gwyna said to me before she died. I had almost forgotten. I suppose I was feeling sad because I had almost forgotten.”

“Maybe you're supposed to forget,” she said, her words tentative. “Or at least not remember so … so relentlessly.”

He gave her a measuring look, as though he wanted to argue, then his expression changed and became thoughtful again.

“Tell me about her. It's my turn to listen.” It was also her turn to gather him close, as he had gathered her close on the trip up the mountain. “I owe it to you several times over. Tell me about Gwyna.”

His expression grew wistful then. He waited a long time to speak, but she was patient.

“Gwyna was the wife of my heart. Her da was a miner too, and we were both in the Merthyr Tydfil Mission District. I don't even remember proposing to her because we were always of one mind.”

He was silent, but Della wanted to know. “What did she look like? Beyond the dark hair and eyes, Angharad doesn't resemble you a great deal.”

“Angharad is her mother's daughter. Gwyna was small, and she had a heart shape to her face, like our daughter. Little hands, little feet, and so graceful. She loved to dance, so we did a lot of that back home.” He leaned back, his eyes closed. “Angharad doesn't understand why I don't like to dance. It's no fun now.”

He looked out the window. “Seven, eight years ago, times were getting harder in the collieries of Glamorgan. We decided to come to Zion. Gwyna had a small legacy, and we used that to travel steerage in the vilest tub afloat. My goodness, I think I threw up everything except the soles of my feet during that crossing!”

There was just enough light from the lamp in the car to see his expression, not sad, as she dreaded, but simply the look of a man remembering. “We arrived in Salt Lake City on a Wednesday and were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple on Friday. By Monday I was shooting coal off the solid in Winter Quarters Canyon.”

“Was Gwyna … was she … ?”

“Expecting Angharad by then? Aye, just barely.” He settled back. “We hadn't known it until we got here at eight thousand feet that Gwyna had a bad heart. She couldn't walk from our home to the meetinghouse without stopping three or four times. All I know is mining and her sister Mabli was here. Could we leave? No. Should we have left? Aye, a thousand times.”

You can do other things
, Della wanted to say, but she had the wisdom not to.

“The doctor—Emil wasn't here then—wanted her to at least go to Provo during the last of her pregnancy. She was two days from going to stay with friends in Springville when she went into early labor.” He spoke in a flat voice, almost like an automaton. “She didn't have a chance.”

He put the fourth handkerchief to his eyes. A railroad crew member passing through the car stopped in surprise, but she shook her head at him. He continued on, looking back once.

“Gwyna hadn't the strength to deliver a baby. What still kills me—she knew it. She had been staring at death for nine months and she knew it.” He leaned his forehead against his hand. “Gwyna said, ‘Sing to me. I am afraid,’ as you just did. I started to sing, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’ She stopped me and said, ‘If a girl, name her Angharad.’ She cried out, ‘Do your best,’ and she died.” A shudder went through him that Della felt in her own body. “The doctor pushed me out of the room, and he went to work immediately. I was on my knees outside our bedroom door when I heard Angharad's first cry.”

He turned toward the window and cried. Della leaned her head against his back. “You haven't told this to anyone, have you?” she said.

“Not even Mabli,” he said, when he could talk. He turned around to look at her, his face so ravaged she wanted to turn away, herself. “Especially not Mabli. I'm
doing
my best. Will I always feel so hollow?”

They sat close together in silence for the rest of the trip to Scofield. Every now and then, Owen shuddered, but he did not cry again. She thought he slept a little, but she was wide awake, deeply aware of him and filled with an enormous desire to protect him from his own sorrow. She had no idea how to do that, beyond listening, singing in the choir, and being his friend. Gwyna was still the sole possessor of his heart.

She knew that Arizona next year wouldn't be far enough. She decided it probably wouldn't matter where she went. She would always know that somewhere in the world was a man she loved, who was still in love with his deceased wife. It wasn't the news she wanted to lug into a new year and a new century, but there it was.

“Safe at last,” he said when they pulled into Scofield three hours late. “Wouldn't you know it—there's Richard with a wagon for the treasure you and the redoubtable Miss Clayson bought for the school.”

He was taking a light tone now, so Della followed his lead. “I was rather hoping he's still here because he wants his valuable secretary and his more valuable tenor.”

“Aye to that.”

He stood up. “Thank you for listening.”

“Same to you.”

He stepped back so she could stand in the aisle too. The door was open now, but she stood there, not on sure ground, because she didn't know if what was in her heart was true.
Hardly matters, Della
, she told herself.
He's tied to Gwyna still, even though I doubt that would please her, if she knew
.

“I'm completely out of order to say this, Owen, and it's taking all my courage.” She looked for some sign on his expressive face that she should not say it, but she saw nothing. “I've never had a man or a baby, but I know children and love them. Gwyna knew what she was doing. She loved you so much and she wanted to give you the best gift she could. She did. Any woman would, who loved you. Good night now. Thank you again.”

She hurried from the railcar, hoping he wouldn't follow, hoping he would.

“Della, wait a moment.”

She turned around. She knew there wasn't a mean bone in his body. Whatever he had to say, she could bear it. He surprised her.

“Keep watching Billy Evans, will you? Just possibly he'll be ready sooner than he thinks.” One deep breath followed another. “After all, he's almost eight and should be reading by now, shouldn't he?”

“I'll watch him closely.”

ella decided there was nothing like the resumption of routine to soothe her heart. Even before the year turned and school resumed, she was back at her nights in the library and enjoying her Thursday sauna. When Miss Clayson returned from Boise, she spent a welcome afternoon with her principal, arranging and distributing Mr. Auerbach's largess in their school.

“I hated leaving you at the depot in such a state of mind,” Lavinia told her.

“No worries. I was in good hands. Made some money too,” Della replied. They looked at each other with perfect understanding.

No worries, really, except the anguish of sitting in the little desk occupied before the holiday break by Will Grover, whose father had died in a bounce.

“Pekka Aho. Will Grover. Bessie Grover,” she said out loud. “Two men die and I lose three students. Four, if we add David Grover in Israel's class. This arithmetic does not add up.”

She looked at the blackboard, comforted again by the words on the pegboard, which could only have been put there by Owen when he and Richard took the box of supplies to school.
Happy New Year, Butterbean. Keep your eye on Billy
.

Emil Isgreen was not back from Tooele yet, so there was no Saturday night dinner. Della wanted to talk with Mabli—for reassurance? for confidence?—but William George was sitting in the parlor, so there was no opportunity. To give Mabli some privacy, Della walked to the Wasatch Store and took the key from the ever-obliging Clarence Nix. She let herself into the library, content to shelve books, straighten newspapers, and try to organize a disordered mind.
I'm wasting my time
warred with
He's worth the trouble
, until she wanted to take the next train out of Scofield. That always ended the struggle in her mind, because she was much too frightened of the trip to Colton, at least until spring.