A Woman Named Damaris Read online

  “More coffee, Damaris,” instructed Mrs. Stacy, and Damaris hurried to the kitchen for the large pot.

  Her hand shook as she poured. She hoped she would not embarrass herself by spilling it. Making her way around the tables, she carefully refilled cup after cup.

  “Could I have a cup, too, please,” a soft yet husky voice requested. Damaris recognized it as belonging to Miss Dover’s Gil.

  She moved closer to reach for his cup. As she poured the hot liquid, she could feel his eyes upon her, but she refused to meet his gaze.

  “I thought you worked for Miss Dover,” he said softly.

  “I do,” said Damaris with no further explanation. She replaced the full cup on the table and moved on, relieved that she still had not had to meet his eyes.

  She returned to the kitchen and placed the nearly empty pot back on the stove. Her body trembled slightly, but she could not understand why. What had he done to frighten her so?

  Then a new thought came to her. She had stood near his chair as she had poured the coffee and had smelled no liquor at all.

  ———

  The next morning as Damaris sorted a new batch of yard goods at the store, she heard the sound of squeaking door hinges and footsteps crossing the floor. She lifted her head and turned to help the customer who had entered. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped stock-still when she saw who it was.

  Her slight movement drew his attention, and Gil turned to her, a smile already on his face. Upon recognizing her his smile was quickly replaced by a look of confusion. Then a slow grin began to turn up the corners of his mouth and cause those deep blue eyes to twinkle.

  “Well, I’ll be!” he laughed. “You runnin’ this town? I’m surprised the sheriff still has his badge.”

  Damaris knew he was teasing her. She flushed, her eyes dropping quickly, the hint of a smile showing on her lips.

  “Guess it must look that way,” she admitted, moving toward the counter. “Fact is, I have three jobs—all part time.”

  She became businesslike then. “You need supplies?” she asked as she moved behind the counter, picking up a small notebook in which to write accounts.

  “I sure do,” he said, moving forward. “I seem to be out of everything back at the ranch.” He fumbled in a shirt pocket. “Here,” he said, handing her a small sheet of paper. “I’ve got it all written down on this list.”

  Damaris took the paper and scanned the items. It made her job so much simpler when customers came in prepared. Some of them stood there half the morning thinking and scratching their heads and trying to remember, then making up their minds and changing them again. Damaris was always relieved to see a list.

  “If you have something else to do, I’ll work on this and have it ready for you in about half an hour,” said Damaris as she reached for a bag of salt.

  “No,” he replied, much to her dismay. “I’ve already looked after everything else. I’m anxious now to collect my supplies and get on back to the ranch. I’ll mosey around here and see if I’ve forgotten anything.”

  Damaris moved as quickly as she could, gathering the items one by one and piling them on the counter. Now and then he commented about something or took a heavy item from her hands.

  “How you liking Dixen?” he asked.

  “It’s okay,” Damaris answered without feeling or conviction.

  She hurried to get his pail of lard.

  “Plannin’ to stay?” he probed.

  Damaris wasn’t sure if he was nosey or just trying to make polite conversation.

  “Guess so,” she said carelessly.

  Damaris placed the last grocery item on the counter and began adding up the total cost.

  “Oh, I forgot,” he said. “I need some nails. I tried at the hardware across the way but they were all out. MacKenzie got any here?”

  “What kind of nails?” asked Damaris. “We have three sizes.”

  Damaris found it unnerving to walk by his side as they went together to look at the nails.

  He chose the ones he wanted and Damaris measured the amount. She was more anxious than he to have the order filled and to get him on his way back to his ranch.

  He laid the money on the counter and began to carry boxes and sacks to the waiting wagon.

  “See you again,” he called to Damaris as he shouldered the large sack of flour as though it were a mere ten-pound bag of sugar and took his leave.

  Damaris ran a trembling hand over her hair. She had thought him gone—for good. But now he was reminding her that this was his town. He came to this store for his supplies. He stopped to eat his meals at Mrs. Stacy’s boardinghouse. And he seemed to be on some kind of special terms with Miss Dover. Yes, she realized. She was likely—very likely—to see him again. She wished she could figure out why he made her so uneasy. Perhaps if she understood, she could cope with it better.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Time

  Tomorrow is my birthday, noted Damaris as she looked at the calendar posted on the wall in Mrs. Stacy’s kitchen.

  She felt neither sadness nor excitement. Only surprise that it had been over a year since she left home.

  Usually she pushed thoughts of home from her mind whenever they came to her. Now, as she stood looking at the calendar, she let her mind stop long enough to wonder how things were with her mama. She knew her birthday would be in Mama’s thinking.

  “I’ll be sixteen,” she whispered. “Sixteen,” she said again. “One more year ’til I’m seventeen. Mama said a girl should be ready to be on her own by then.”

  I wish Mama knew that I’m fine, her thoughts continued. “I wish she could see my new dresses and my new shoes,” she murmured, “and that I even have more money on my account at the store. Maybe I’ll even have enough to get me some real winter high-tops.” Damaris had admired the boots as she unpacked them and placed them on the shelves.

  “Or maybe a coat—instead of my shawl. Shawls are hard to hold in place on a windy day.”

  Damaris heard a step on the porch and closed her mouth. Mrs. Stacy was returning from her call. Damaris turned from the calendar. Tomorrow would come and go like any other day.

  ———

  One day in early fall Damaris lifted her eyes to see Mr. Brown standing at the counter. She had come to think that the family had completely disappeared from her life.

  At the sight of him, Damaris felt her heart leap. Edgar! It had been so long since she had seen Edgar.

  She moved forward eagerly to greet the man and see the small boy.

  “Hello, Damaris,” he said, his eyes brightening. “You’re lookin’ well. Had a good first year?”

  Damaris nodded, surprised at how shy she suddenly felt.

  “And you?” she asked.

  “For the most part,” he said, but his eyes darkened before his head lowered.

  Fear tightened Damaris’s stomach. Something had happened. Was it Edgar? She dared not ask.

  “How is Mrs. Brown?” she finally said.

  “She’s keepin’ well. Fair. She’s to have another child soon.”

  Damaris thought of the frail woman with her arms already filled with fussing babies and wondered how she would ever manage with another one.

  “Does—does she have some place to go?” Damaris asked with hesitation.

  “A neighbor woman has promised to come. She’s delivered lots of babies. It’ll be fine. Mrs. Brown has never had trouble.”

  Damaris wondered if he felt as sure as he tried to sound.

  “And the—the children?” she said at last.

  His eyes darkened again. She knew it. She knew it. Her heart constricted within her chest. She should have kept Edgar with her. Somehow. She should not have left him. She should have found some way to see that they were never separated.

  “Edgar still talks of you,” Mr. Brown finally said.

  Damaris looked up quickly, her wildly beating heart giving an extra thud.

  “How is he?” she managed to say in
spite of her dry mouth.

  “Growin’ like a weed,” said Mr. Brown. He smiled for the first time. “Goin’ to be drivin’ a team before we know it.”

  Damaris felt weak with relief.

  “And the others?” she asked.

  “We buried the wee one,” replied Mr. Brown, disclosing the reason for the pain in his eyes.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Never was right,” went on Mr. Brown as though he was glad to have someone who would understand his grief. “Always fussy and sickly. Never gained like he shoulda. Nearly wore Mrs. Brown out. Thought fer sure things would right themselves once we settled—but he jest seemed to git worse and worse.”

  “When?” asked Damaris.

  “Jest afore Christmas.”

  Damaris couldn’t speak further. She was relieved when Mr. Brown turned the conversation to his purchases.

  “We’re only a little further from Dixen than we are from Casey,” he explained. “I’ve been goin’ on over there fer supplies an’ then my neighbor fella says thet things are sometimes a bit cheaper over here, so I decided to check it out myself.”

  Damaris nodded.

  “From lookin’ round at the prices—I think he’s right. Might be comin’ this way from now on.”

  Damaris felt excitement creep over her. She might get to see Edgar again. When she had finished filling the order, she scooped a handful of gumdrops into a little brown bag and handed them to Mr. Brown.

  “For the children,” she explained. “From me. Tell them I still think of them. And—and give my regards to Mrs. Brown.”

  The man smiled and thanked her. Then he hoisted the remainder of groceries onto his shoulder and left the store. Damaris lifted a hand to bid farewell and then turned to write the candy on her account card.

  ———

  Mr. Brown continued to come to their store about once a month for some time after that, but he didn’t bring Edgar with him. He did, however, bring news of a new baby girl.

  “I was hoping fer another boy,” he admitted to Damaris. “Fella can never have too many hands to help with the work.”

  Damaris thought of Mrs. Brown. Surely she could use a few hands as well. Then, remembering the couple’s rather spoiled, carefree daughters, Damaris wondered if Mrs. Brown would have help no matter how many girls she had.

  Damaris tucked in a little gift for the new baby along with the candy she always sent to the children. The purchases made a bit of a hole in her money on account, but Damaris refused to mope about it.

  “Tell Mrs. Brown I am happy for her,” she said.

  Mr. Brown nodded as he left and promised to carry the message.

  ———

  Damaris also saw Gil now and then. He didn’t come to town often, and when he did he always seemed to be in a hurry. Damaris avoided him if she could, feigning busyness at the store or kitchen duties at the boardinghouse. It was not so easy to escape his presence at Miss Dover’s. He always took time to call on the town seamstress, even though he did not have sewing or mending to be done. If Damaris happened to be working, he greeted her as well; but he did not linger to chat, and Damaris was glad about that.

  ———

  Winter came in with a chill wind, gripping icy fingers on exposed hands and cheeks. Damaris had to choose between the boots and the coat and finally decided on the boots. She could wrap her heavy shawl around her for another season. She didn’t have to travel far anyway, but it would be nice to have high-top boots when crossing snowdrifts between places of employment.

  One day as Damaris pushed open Miss Dover’s door, a blast of wind caught the bell, causing it to jingle wildly. She closed the door as quickly as she could to shut out the weather and shook the snow from her hair and shawl.

  “My,” said Miss Dover, “I had no idea it was that nasty. You shouldn’t have come.”

  “It’s not that bad,” answered Damaris. She thought, but didn’t add, that she would have braved much worse weather and traveled a much greater distance to enjoy the woman’s companionship.

  “I think we’ll need to light the lamp,” said Miss Dover. “It has become quite dark.”

  Damaris nodded and went to light it. She wished that she could stand for a few minutes with her fingers wrapped around the warm globe. How cold her hands had become in the short distance! She had not been able to tuck them underneath her shawl because the wind would have stolen away her wrap if she had not held on to it tightly with both hands.

  “I think it’s about time for you to learn to use the machine,” said Miss Dover.

  Damaris jerked to attention.

  “Are you interested?”

  Damaris had dreamed of using the machine. Whenever she looked up from her own mending, she studied the hands of Miss Dover as they skillfully guided the material under the foot that cradled the needle.

  “I’d—I’d love to if you think—”

  “I’m sure you’ll catch on in no time,” Miss Dover assured her.

  Damaris forgot all about her cold fingers and followed Miss Dover to the machine.

  The day went all too quickly. Damaris was a good student and was soon enjoying the thrill of seeing finished seams turn out under her guiding hand. Her eyes, hands, and feet worked in unison, producing an even stitch.

  “It’s just as I thought,” said Miss Dover with a pleased voice. “You are a natural seamstress.”

  Damaris flushed at the praise. She so much wanted to be like Miss Dover. She worked on, her eyes fastened on the cloth.

  All too soon it was time for her to put away her sewing and hurry across the street to help Mrs. Stacy again. She laid aside the unfinished garment and wrapped her shawl firmly around her shoulders.

  “How is your reading coming?” Miss Dover asked just as Damaris was ready to leave. “Where are you now?”

  “I’m reading the—the story of—well, it’s not a story really. It’s the—the book of Ezekiel.”

  “Oh,” said Miss Dover thoughtfully. “Are you enjoying it?”

  Damaris hardly knew how to answer. She looked down at her new high-top boots. Already they were showing a faint scuff on one toe. She wanted to bend down and polish it with the end of her shawl, but she decided to wait until she was alone in her room.

  “Well—I don’t much understand it,” she admitted. “All of the—the woes and—and pretendings.”

  “Pretendings? Oh, you mean visions? Well, I admit that there is much of it that I don’t understand, either.”

  Damaris placed a hand on the door handle. She had to go. Mrs. Stacy would be impatient if she was late.

  “Why don’t you read from the New Testament?” suggested Miss Dover.

  “Well I—I—haven’t finished the Old Testament, and I—I still haven’t—found my name.”

  Surprise showed on Miss Dover’s face. Damaris was sure she had forgotten all about the name.

  “Your name? Yes. Yes, we meant to look for your name.” Her brow puckered slightly and she appeared to be deep in thought. “It’s funny,” she said, shaking her head, a smile playing about her lips. “I thought I knew my Bible pretty well, but I can’t remember a story about Damaris.”

  Disappointment seeped to the deepest part of Damaris’s being.

  Then Miss Dover brightened. “But I’ll help you find it,” she promised, “and this time I won’t forget.” Seeing the look of relief on Damaris’s face, she hurried on. “But you start in the New Testament,” she said. “I think you will understand it better. I’ll finish looking for your name in the Old Testament. From Ezekiel, you say?”

  Damaris nodded.

  “Well, then, I’ll work on Ezekiel.”

  Damaris voiced her thanks and went back out into the swirling snow. Perhaps with both of them working on it, they would soon find the story of the Bible woman named Damaris.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Dinner Guest

  Damaris had enjoyed the stories in the Old Testament, but much of the “in-betwee
n,” as she thought of it, left her confused. But the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were filled with exciting tales. Instead of going on to Acts, she flipped back to Matthew and began to read again. Reading the Bible was new to her, so she had to read the stories again and again to understand them. She could hardly wait for night to come so she could cuddle down in her warm bed, her head propped up on pillows and her knees drawn up to hold the book.

  She loved many of the characters of the stories, but the man Jesus drew her like no other. He was different from any man she had ever known. She brushed away tears as she read of the birth in a cattle shed, with no bed for Him but a cow’s manger. She could picture it in her mind from memories of her family’s farm. She exulted as He walked the dusty roads speaking words of peace and healing the sick. She chuckled with glee when He put down the proud Pharisees who tried to trick Him with their questions. And she agonized as He was sentenced to death and forced to drag His cross through the streets of the city to Golgotha.

  When she came at last to the story of the open tomb, Damaris hugged her knees and choked back the words she wished to say out loud. It was all so exciting, so perfect. She had never read another story quite like it.

  “I wish He had really lived. I wish He had lived right here in Dixen.”

  At last, here was a man Damaris felt she could trust. Oh, it was true that Mr. Brown had never been harsh with her—but she had always wondered what might happen if he put a bottle to his lips. And it was true that the captain had been more than kind in finding her work, but she had been careful not to anger him. It was true too that Mr. MacKenzie was decent enough, but Damaris had smelled whiskey on his breath once or twice and feared what might happen if one day he had more money in his pocket than he knew what to do with. And it was also true that Miss Dover’s Gil was always kind, but he paid little more attention to Damaris than she did to him. But with the man in the book—this Jesus—Damaris could find no reason not to trust this man.