One Step Enough Page 6

  The words irritated him; they always had. “I ask you, Della, how is it comforting to tell someone mourning a loved one, ‘Service he has gone to render, wanted on the other side?’ ”

  “I know,” she said, plunking down beside him.

  Della did a strange thing then. She pulled up her knees, sitting there on the bench in her best Sunday dress, and rested her chin on them, arms wrapped around her legs like Angharad might sit. “I remember a sacrament meeting once where my Salt Lake bishop said we wouldn’t mourn if we saw how good things were on the other side.” She chuckled, a cozy sound that stirred his heart, even as he sat there so miserable. “I almost didn’t believe him, then decided I would be happier if I did. It might be true, even though we on this side can’t see it.”

  With an exasperated sigh, she seemed to realize how unladylike she looked and put her legs down. “It’s your decision, Owen. I can’t make it for you. Maybe you should ask yourself what Richard would want you to do.”

  “Maybe I’d rather wallow in misery for a while,” he said frankly.

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “This is the easy part,” she reminded him. “When people pour out of here, we’re walking to David and Richard’s family plots, where you are going to sing ‘Lead, Kindly Light,’ the miners’ song.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I know you can’t, but we can, and we will, my love.”

  They did later, but not before he had helped shovel dirt on more rows of coffins, this time men like himself who had joined the Mormon Church in the British Isles and followed the call to Zion. Many of these were single men. Only last Monday, he had teased shy William Williams about saving his money to send for Mary Jones in Merthyr Tydfil. Who was going to tell Mary Jones what had happened to the man she waited for?

  But there was no putting off the worst of the ordeal, standing by the more remote family plots of miners who had been living in Pleasant Valley longer. After older brother William Evans dedicated the graves of his two brothers until the morning of the First Resurrection, the Davises stepped between the two plots. Propped up by his women, Owen Rhys Davis gathered all his strength and sang “Lead, Kindly Light” to David Evans and Richard Evans, while their surviving brothers and nephews who had been on the afternoon shift joined them on the final verse.

  As if they had planned it, all the other excellent voices dropped out as he sang the first verse again, loathe to let go. Owen felt his breaking heart soar with the spirits of his two friends far out over the valley and the mourners and gravestones. Others nearby at their own burials turned to listen.

  “ ‘Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see, the distant scene—one step enough for me.’ ”

  It was done. After shoveling soil over his handmade casket with the beautiful symbols of Wales on it, Owen turned away after one last look into Martha’s grieving face. He wondered if he would ever be able to sing again.

  Chapter 8

  L

  Owen put his wife and child on the last train to Provo that evening, along with Angharad’s furniture, his handcrafted sofa from the front room, and his promise now to meet them in Manti on Thursday morning at the temple. Della couldn’t argue when Bishop Parmley said he needed Owen’s help with company paperwork for the deceased miners’ widows, although she wanted to.

  “The company is forgiving all last month’s debts in the company store and providing five hundred dollars for each widow,” Owen told her as they walked toward his house. “Other donations are coming in. I’m going to help Bishop with those for a few days.”

  “And sleep where?”

  “I have a mattress.”

  “And a marvelous mattress it is, husband,” she teased.

  Their path had been smoothed enormously by the arrival of their stake president, who had come up from Provo for the funerals and had no problem furnishing them their last interview for temple sealing. He waved away any explanations about their hurried civil wedding days ago.

  “You’ve been through enough,” he said, and he took both of them by the hand. “Bishop Parmley explained it all, and I am happy to sign away an eternity for the two of you.”

  Della smiled at that, looked at Owen, and wished he would smile too. He frowned instead, which made her wonder what was going through his head. When she touched his arm, he seemed to remember where he was, and smiled. It came too late. Poor, poor man, she thought. You need some rest. Something better than a mattress in an empty house. She left Angharad and Owen to quickly pack out her room and walked to Finn Town alone, head bowed against the force of the wind. Her mind rebelled at leaving the canyon’s grieving inhabitants to their own devices, even as she knew there was nothing more she could do for any of them.

  Eeva Koski hugged her and said she must return to sauna with them, but in Clear Creek.

  “Kari thinks it best we go there to mine with other Finns,” she said as she stood in her doorway. “There seem to be hard feelings here.” She sighed and looked down the winding road Della had walked. “Why must things change?”

  The visit to Annie Jones was harder because there was Myfanwy, one of her best pupils, dressed in black and standing by the door as Della had watched her after school all year, waiting for her father to walk up from the mine, ready to hand off his lunch box and sit on the porch to hear about her day. “Da makes the time for me,” she told Della once.

  Myfanwy had written a story about her father that Della had submitted to the district office in Spanish Fork for a writing contest. The results wouldn’t be in for a few weeks. The Winter Quarters School was closed now until fall, but the school year hadn’t entirely wound down in the rest of the district. In other classrooms, teachers and students still worked and wrote little essays about what they would do this summer, while Myfanwy’s classroom had become a morgue. Bishop Parmley had already said they would repaint the interior of the school because the odor of burned flesh remained. No one wanted an essay about that.

  Della sat with Annie, reminding the woman of her gift of oat bread and salt when she arrived.

  “And now it will be Owen Davis for you,” Annie said and smiled. “Take care of him, as we took care of him during his worst hours after Gwyna died.”

  “I promise. What will you do?”

  “I’ll stay here. Probably take in washing. Our oldest boy still lives with me, and the mines will reopen.” Annie’s eyes filled with tears. “As I told you a few months ago, we keep busy with our children and try not to think about what could happen.” She took a deep breath, and Della marveled at the strength in Annie’s calm face. “And since it did, we carry on with the help of the Lord Almighty.” She kissed Della and went into her bedroom, closing the door quietly.

  Martha Evans held her close for a long while. “I could give you all manner of advice,” she said finally, holding Della off to look into her face. “Just love the man. He has some serious doubts about his life right now.”

  “About me?” Della asked. “Tell me, Martha. About me?”

  “Probably about everything. He wonders why he is alive and … and other things.”

  “Provo is only seventy miles from Gwyna’s grave,” Della said, filling in what she knew Martha would not say. “I can’t do anything about Gwyna.”

  “No, you can’t. He loved her and she died. Now he loves you.”

  “Does he? Is it enough for him?” Della made herself put words to her fears.

  “Aye, he does, my dear,” Martha assured her. “He also loves the mines. I could box his ears for that and shake a stick at him, but there is a lure that wives don’t understand.”

  “What should I do if he breaks his promise to me and the mines win?”

  “You’ll know what to do wh … if it happens.”

  “You’re not easing my mind, Martha,” Della said, and then she hated herself for questioning a woman newly widowed who had more important things to consider. “I’m sorry, friend.” She took Martha’s
hand. “I probably will know.”

  “Of that I have no doubt; nor should you doubt.” Martha said with certainty, as though she spoke to one of her children.

  L

  The Davis house was starting to look as bare as the houses already abandoned by widows and children who waited for the train to take them away from their homes. Della, Owen, and Angharad walked behind the wagon taking their paltry effects to the depot. They stopped at the hospital at the mouth of the canyon, where Emil Isgreen kissed Della and dared Owen to do anything about it.

  Della had to smile inside when Owen held up his hand. “Dr. Isgreen, you have already threatened me with dire things if I do not do my duty by Della Davis. Kiss her again and I’ll lay you out, even if you are taller than I am.”

  “I know you could,” Emil said, good-natured as always. “Good luck to you. Stop by, if you’re ever in the canyon again.”

  “We will be,” Della said promptly. She glanced at Owen, who nodded, his eyes still tired, but not so sad. So there, husband, she thought.

  Goodbyes at the station were easier this time. “Eight in the morning at the Manti Temple,” Owen said to Della. “You have the paperwork, and I’ll provide the Welshman.”

  “Where will you sleep tonight?” she asked.

  “Probably on Mabli’s sofa. I’d rather sleep with you, all things considered. My goodness, but you can blush. Blush away, Della. I’ll see you Thursday, with Mabli and we’ll see who else.”

  Who else could there be? she asked herself, and she knew he was asking the same question. Gently, she took his face in her hands and kissed him carefully and so slowly that the conductor finally walked by and cleared his throat.

  “We have a schedule, ma’am,” the man said and then walked on.

  Owen pulled away first and chuckled at that. He didn’t say anything as he helped her up the steps, ruffled Angharad’s hair, and stepped back. He gave her a long look, then “Fi cariad ddau ohonoch,” and a kiss blown to them both.

  All of a sudden Della felt like it was the two of them against the world, with no buffer, no Owen, nothing. “What did he say, Angharad?”

  “ ‘I love you both,’ ” the child replied. “Why does Thursday already seem so far away?”

  Oh dear, Della thought. One of us is going to have to be the adult, and I suppose I am elected. “It’s not so far away, dear. Think of it like this: it’s already practically Saturday night, and we can’t count Sunday because that is church, and we are busy all day. I think the Knights will have a house for us, so we will be busy on Monday and Tuesday, putting things away.”

  “We don’t have much,” Angharad pointed out. “How can that take two days?”

  “We’ll work slowly. We’ll have to find a market and buy some food and arrange for ice deliveries for our icebox,” Della said. If we have a kitchen with an icebox, and an address.

  “Then it will be Wednesday, which we can’t even count because it will go so fast,” Della concluded. She had to smile because it was preposterous. “Don’t look so skeptical, Angharad.”

  “It’s hard not to. Will Da be all right by himself?”

  “He’ll be better when we’re together again,” Della said honestly. “Remember: we’re just counting Monday and Tuesday. Nothing else matters.”

  Chapter 9

  L

  Only a woman in deep and abiding love could turn five days into two and a half, but Della succeeded as well as was humanly possible, considering.

  She couldn’t help her feeling of relief to be out of Scofield, at the same time she regretted leaving. You’re not running away, she scolded herself, and then she wondered why she felt so bereft. The canyon she had come to love with all her heart had turned on them. She knew she wanted to treasure up each memory of teaching, meeting lovely people, half of whom were gone now, going to sauna with her Finnish friends, managing the library, discovering her own worth, falling in love.

  Her long list of positive emotions that should have been rightfully hers struggled against the massive, overwhelming sorrow she felt. She wondered if that would change, or if the Winter Quarters disaster would remain the darkest cloud of her life, never quite out of sight.

  Once over Soldier Summit and in Thistle, the train uncoupled one of its helper engines and let off passengers, some of them her young students. Forcing herself to smile, she hugged and kissed each one and their mothers, heading to other relatives in other towns, scattering like leaves in autumn. As absurd as it sounded, she wanted to turn back time to Tuesday, May 1, and run from door to door in the canyon, imploring each miner to stay home that day. That way, 10:28 a.m. would come and go with nothing more interesting than a spelling test. There would be the dance that night in the Odd Fellows Hall, and she would tell Owen that yes, she would marry him, no matter what. Martha and Richard would gather close and wish them well, and she and Owen would make happy plans for a Manti Temple wedding with all their friends in attendance.

  Shaken, she sat down with Angharad and held her close when the train started again, craving the child’s arms around her neck as they clung together, wishing for … what?

  “I wish we could turn back time, Angharad,” she said softly. “Do you?”

  The child nodded. She sat up on Della’s lap. “Remember how Da and I touch fingers before he leaves for his shift, and he says, ‘Leave it in God’s hands?’ We do that every morning.” Angharad shivered. “We used to do that. Please, Mam, let’s still leave it in God’s hands.”

  Della felt a shard or two splinter from the boulder on her heart and soul. Trust the daughter of the man she loved to be the adult in that moment. “I do believe that will be the best course,” Della said. She held out her forefinger and Angharad touched it with hers.

  “In God’s hands,” she whispered.

  “Ddwylo Duw,” Angharad echoed.

  L

  Amanda Knight waited for them at the depot. “Owen sent us a telegram,” she said, holding off Della for a better look. “ ‘Look at her hand,’ it said.”

  Della held out her left hand. “I tried to argue, but Bishop Parmley insisted.”

  Amanda laughed, such a welcome sound.

  “Bishop said Owen and I needed each other now and not next week, so he married us then and there,” she said. “He was right. Why do I argue with a bishop?”

  “Because you’re Della,” Amanda said promptly. “Come on, you two. It’s late, and I want to get you and your possessions to my home. We can stack them in the carriage house and sort it out on Monday.”

  “We don’t have too much,” Della said. Her good humor began to reassert itself. “I take that back: Angharad has a completely furnished house.”

  “Mam, you know it’s a dollhouse,” the child reminded her, her eyes bright too, for the first time in days.

  “And what a house it is, built by a master,” Della agreed.

  The carriage started for Center Street. Angharad tucked herself close to Della, but her eyes were on Amanda Knight. “Please, mum, what should I call you?”

  Amanda laughed. “You hear Uncle Jesse and yet Della calls me Amanda.”

  “I am confused,” Angharad said with some dignity. “Are you and Mam related?”

  “Sort of,” Della said, well aware how little she wanted to ever tell this child about Aunt Caroline Anders, a cousin of the kind lady seated beside them, wife to her Uncle Karl who took her in after her father died. “We’re what people here call ‘shirttail relatives.’ What are we, Amanda?”

  “Caroline and I are distant cousins, and she is your aunt, Della. Perhaps I am a distant aunt,” Amanda said with a laugh. “Does that simplify things, Angharad?”

  Angharad shook her head.

  “Do this then,” Amanda said. “You call me Aunt Amanda, please. Uncle Jesse is Uncle Jesse to everyone in Utah, I think.” She peered closer. “Have I completely confused you?”

  “Not yet,” Angharad said. She closed her eyes. “I’ll think about it a moment, if that is all right with you and
Mam.”

  “ ‘Mam,’ is it?” Amanda asked.

  “Yes, and I love it,” Della replied. She leaned back against the cushions. “My word, is it possible to feel so tired and still be alive?”

  “What a terrible week for you. All you need to do when we get home is go to bed. Sunday we’ll be in church. I don’t intend for either of you to lift a finger.”

  Angharad felt heavy against her arm. Della heard even breathing. She inclined her head against the child’s, hoping her father slept, but knowing he didn’t.

  “Owen stayed to help Bishop Parmley with insurance paperwork.” Della struggled as her own eyelids seemed to droop of their own accord. “Imagine this: Mr. Auerbach sent a check for fifteen hundred dollars. People have been so kind.”

  She looked around, missing Uncle Jesse for the first time. “Where is …”

  “Jesse? He tried mightily to change his plans, but he couldn’t,” Amanda said. “He and our son Raymond are on their way to Alberta District, in Canada.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “Business. I think he’s going to buy a lot of land.”

  At the house, the driver carefully lifted Angharad from the carriage and at Amanda’s quiet command, took her upstairs to the turret room, where he set her down just as gently. Della undressed her down to her shift while Amanda pulled back the covers and popped her in.

  Della watched the sleeping child, envious of the peace on her face. Amanda took her hand and tugged her from the room, leading her downstairs.

  “Just a few words, dear,” Amanda said as she led her into the parlor.

  Della wanted to object, but that would have taken more words than she was currently capable of. She rested her hand against her cheek as she fought sleep.

  “I want to put your mind immediately at rest, Della, even though it seems like mighty small potatoes in the face of this week. We found a house for sale and we acquired it.”

  “Heavens, I didn’t expect you to go to such trouble and expense,” Della said, dismayed.

  “It was no trouble and very little expense, and you will be renters,” Amanda replied. “Two bedrooms, a front room, a kitchen and dining area, and believe it or not, an indoor lavatory.”