Chapter Eleven
Amelia swiped angrily at her eyes with her right palm while she continued stuffing her belongings into the worn trunk she’d arrived with.
She hadn’t much to put in there, so it was going quickly enough, though it would’ve been going quicker if she weren’t fighting tears the whole time.
It was her least favorite quality: when moved to great anger, she more often than not would end up crying.
It wasn’t from sadness, and she didn’t want anyone to mistake her for a silly, overly emotional girl.
To this end, she’d gotten quite good at keeping a tight rein on her temper. At least, she usually did—there was something about Cody Walker that absolutely got under her skin. She hadn’t had a man needle her like he did in quite some time.
Arrogant, foul-tempered lout, she thought as she pulled a skirt from her wardrobe with a snap, rolling it up hastily and throwing it into the trunk.
She froze for a moment and stared at the skirt before sighing and pulling it back out.
She had to pack carefully now; there was no guarantee as to when she’d be able to iron or press her clothing, and she’d have to look presentable if she had any hope of landing a job again.
Carefully, she folded it to exact proportions so it formed a neat rectangle, then rolled it up tightly to save space and hopefully prevent too much wrinkling.
Of course, the crux of the issue was that she had no means of going anywhere, no matter where that destination was. She’d spent her last handful of pennies just getting to Gunnison. She bit her lip, gnawing at it as she thought, and sat on the edge of her bed.
I could demand that Mr. Walker pay for my ticket, she thought. Seeing as it’s his fault I’m leaving, and that I had to pay my own way here. Sort of. She stopped chewing on her lip and wrinkled her nose. She refused to ask that man for anything beyond a ride into town.
Absently, she looked out the window. The idea of settling in one place might have been foolish. It was also possible that she’d spent long enough sitting still, and she should be moving on for everyone’s safety.
Maybe I should become a Harvey Girl, she mused. That way I’ll always be on the move. It wasn’t a wholly unappealing notion—she liked to travel, and she was capable. She shook her head.
She turned her gaze to her door. It was silent outside her room, which surprised her.
If the children shed tears, they did so silently.
Her heart ached for them, for their current distress and for the pain her impending departure would cause.
There was a palpable tension, anger, and sadness colliding within the walls between everyone.
It was as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Whatever I decide, I have one more thing to do before I go. Amelia wasn’t one for breaking promises, and she’d given her solemn vow to the children to help them through what might very well prove to be an emotionally taxing school event.
Amelia had managed to successfully avoid Cody for the better part of the next day.
She spoke to him only long enough to remind him that they were expected at the schoolhouse—all of them—that evening.
His face had looked mutinous, but he’d relented, though not without trying to keep Amelia from attending.
She’d stood her ground and said that Miss Monroe expected her there to help.
So they were expected to play the part of a happy family.
While Cody clearly didn’t want her there, Amelia was enjoying her presence at his side immensely.
It wasn’t that she had any particular fondness for him; it was the simple fact that the more pleasant and wifely she appeared to be, the more his evident discomfort increased.
She had no real affection for the citizens of Gunnison, so the fact that this caused no small amount of jealousy among the ladies was an added benefit.
An impromptu stage had been hastily constructed outside the schoolhouse.
A smattering of chairs was arranged in rows in front of it, and parents took their seats.
Evening was falling, and lamps and lanterns were lit at the foot of the stage.
Amelia excused herself to help Ruby and Logan dress for their performances, and she ducked behind a patchwork curtain that served as the backstage area.
She wove her way through the children who were darting to and fro and spotted Ruby and Logan. Ruby was struggling with her dress, unsure how to walk with the long train trailing behind her.
“Here,” Amelia said, bending down and lifting the train. “There’s a loop to slide your finger through so you can carry it as you walk—that’s right,” she said.
Ruby bent and twisted to examine the way the train draped from her hand and wrinkled her nose.
“Whoever thought this was a good idea in this environment? A train dragging about in the dirt, ugh.” The flower wreath on her head slipped a little, and Amelia helped her adjust it as she straightened back up.
“In fairness, I don’t believe you picked the most practical dress in your mother’s wardrobe,” Amelia teased her lightly.
Ruby tossed her head and harrumphed. Amelia couldn’t blame her—she hadn’t had many chances to dress up.
As she was poised at the edge of womanhood, it was only natural that she wanted to see what she’d look like in that particular role.
“Do I look alright?” Logan interrupted.
Amelia turned to him and found him standing in a jacket that positively dwarfed him. She swallowed a gentle laugh and helped him adjust the lapels and sleeves as best she could. She turned the sleeves under so that at least his fingers were visible.
“I still don’t know why I had to partner with him,” Ruby groused, patting her hair.
Amelia had carefully pinned it up and used an old clay pipe to curl the edges around her forehead.
It was Ruby’s first time wearing her hair up, and she kept fussing at it, paranoid that it was sagging.
“I could have partnered with one of the boys in my class easily enough.”
Amelia shot her a knowing look as she finished adjusting Logan’s sleeves. “That wouldn’t have been entirely appropriate, Ruby,” she said firmly. “Now, I’m going to go and find my seat. Good luck, you two.” She held her arms out, and the children both sandwiched her in a hasty embrace.
Amelia smiled down at them. They didn’t know that she was set to leave yet; she hadn’t wanted to spoil their big night.
When she turned away from them, her smile collapsed and, to her great annoyance, her eyes stung with tears.
She glanced up and saw Miss Monroe looking at her quizzically, but Amelia hurried past her.
She walked without really thinking about it to her seat at Cody’s side.
He was sitting stiffly, not engaging in the small talk that flowed around him as neighbors exchanged greetings.
Amelia, too, sat rigidly next to him. She clenched her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.
She was especially perturbed by the fact that they were sitting close enough that his leg brushed against her skirt, and she was unable to escape the contact without looking churlish.
Well, she thought, I suppose at least the townspeople will have something to gossip about. She caught a few sidelong glances from behind fans being thrown her way, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She fixed her expression into one of beatific serenity.
A few notes were plinked out from a small parlor piano that had been set up against one side of the stage, and the crowd hushed. Those who were still milling about found their seats, sliding awkwardly past those already seated with awkward excuses and touches of their hands to hat brims.
“The story of Gunnison!” a boy of no more than seven announced loudly, striding to the front of the stage. He wore a top hat several sizes too large, which kept slipping into his eyes, but this did nothing to diminish his very great dignity.
The story unfolded in a carousel of too-big costumes that had clearly been hauled out of attics and trunks.
It was a story about the town as much as it was about the people in it.
Amelia recognized the curmudgeonly Mr. Carter’s grandson, striding about in buckskins and carrying an old-fashioned musket.
His attempt at appearing like a hardy frontiersman was somewhat undercut by his soft, doughy face.
“What a likely-looking piece of God’s country,” he said, his voice light and soft. He bent and made a show of searching the ground.
“What’s this?” he said and held up something in his hand. It caught the light, shining, and the crowd gasped. It was a gold nugget, bright and undeniable. Amelia stared. “Why, it is gold! This truly is a blessed land. I shall stake a claim, and others will follow in my footsteps.”
Amelia slid a gaze down the row to Mr. Carter, who was watching the performance with rapt attention. To her great surprise, there was a softness about his face as he watched his grandson, a tender regard that bordered on regret. Amelia blinked, taken aback by his reaction.
Who would have thought that miserable old cuss was such a sentimental thing? she mused.
She’d known that there was a thriving gold mining industry in Gunnison, but she hadn’t paid it any mind. She’d had more than her fill of miners, and she was happy enough to avoid them. Cattle, smelly and noisy as they may be, were a welcome change of pace.
Mr. Carter’s grandson was ushered off the stage.
There was a moment of emptiness on the stage, in which there was a general murmuring from the audience.
The gold nugget had caused a stir. At last, there was a round of very determined shushing from the wee narrator in his top hat, and the crowd quieted.