Carla Kelly (27 page)

“Why would you want that?”

He shrugged. “I like you. You came to our canyon, and we take an interest in people here. It's the Welsh way.”

“The nosy way?” she challenged.

She didn't get a rise out of him. He shrugged and started walking again.

“Wait. Wait. Don't leave me here alone.” She winced, unwilling to sound so pathetic, but unable to take back words spoken.

He looked at her and nodded. “You afraid of heights?”

“I don't think so.”

“Take my hand.”

She let him lead her off the trail and up the slope to an outcropping of rock.

“I call it Arthur Pendragon's Seat. Angharad and I come here when we want to talk. Let me help you seat yourself. If it makes you nervous, we'll go back to the road.”

She sat and dangled her legs over the rock. She said nothing, afraid to begin.

“Here's what I know about you,” Owen said, just when the silence was starting to make her wary. “You're an Anders, so you come from a wealthy family in Salt Lake City, and you're working in a mining camp. But you tell me your father died in a mine. Everyone thinks he was a mine owner, but I have my doubts.”

Della took a deep breath. It was now or never. She let her breath out slowly, prepared to say nothing, until Owen leaned closer, his shoulders touching hers.

“He died and left you at the mercy of your relatives, didn't he?”

She nodded. “There were times when I hated him for doing that,” she began, her voice tentative. “That sounds wicked!”

“It's not. Have you ever heard of the Abercarn Horror?”

She shook her head.

“On September 11 in 1878, my da and two brothers went into the Cwmcarn pit at the Prince of Wales Colliery. They and 265 miners never came out. There was an explosion and a two-month fire that was put out with thirty-five million gallons of water. They were tombed in there, and they remain there still. My brother William was sixteen, and Alfred was eighteen. A year later when I was ten, I became a boney picker like little Bryn Lloyd in your class. When I was thirteen, I went into the pit.”

“Why?” She couldn't help her anguish. The pressure of his hand increased.

“We had to eat, and the Davises know mines. But let me tell you, Della, there were times when I was underground that I hated my da too. It passed.” He shook his head. “There were more times when I wonder if Da, Al, and Will had drowned or burned up in the explosion. Too many nightmares.”

Della couldn't help the shudder that ran through her. “When my father died, I was alone because I had no mother. How could he
leave
me?”

“Not his choice,” Owen replied frankly. “A silver mine?”

She nodded. “The Molly Bee, close to Hastings. We lived there off and on, for all of my life in Colorado.”

“What happened?”

“A cave-in, Papa and two others. He's buried in Hastings, so I at least know where he is. I asked my aunt and uncle once if they would have his body moved to Salt Lake's city cemetery. Uncle Karl asked Aunt Caroline to look into it, so Papa remains in Hastings.”

He nodded, silent for a long time. She waited; she knew Owen Davis was bright and would figure it out. He sat silent for a long while, as the sun slipped lower. He began tentatively.

“Your uncle is a busy man, eh?”

“Very. When I showed up on his doorstep with a tag around my neck reading
Karl Anders, Salt Lake City
, he turned me over to Aunt Caroline.”

“What did she do for you?”

For the first time since she had sat down on the rock overlooking the road below, she turned to look at Owen. To her relief, there was nothing but concern in his eyes. “Absolutely nothing.”

He moved restlessly, then spoke as if to himself. “A grieving girl … you were …”

“… almost thirteen …”

“… comes to her house and she does nothing.”

Della nodded. “Uncle Karl sat me down and made me tell him what had happened to his brother. He said he would take care of me and said he would enroll me in Salt Lake Stake Academy. He did. He told Aunt Caroline to get me some better clothing. She smiled and nodded—she could look so serene!—but did nothing. That was the pattern.”

“He didn't notice?”

“I wondered about that at first, but Uncle Karl was seldom home, except for dinner.” She shrugged. “Whenever anything came up concerning my care, he just looked at Aunt Caroline and told her to take care of it.”

He absorbed that. “I gather times had been hard at the Molly Bee.”

“The worst. I came to Salt Lake with one skirt—too short—a shirtwaist and a petticoat, and that's what I started school in.”

The look in his eyes was starting to bother Della. “It could have been worse! I had a room of my own, and the food was better.” She chuckled. “When Mabli told me one night that nearly everyone in the canyon was living on oat-cakes, I was reminded of Lumpy Dick.”

“Who?”

“More like what. You boil water, add flour, and stir until it thickens. If you have some raisins too, that's Lumpy Dick. I ate a lot of that in Hastings. We all did.”

“I'll stick with oatcakes, think on.” He sighed. “So there you were in a good school, dressed in mining camp clothing.”

“I can't begin to describe the humiliation,” she said. “I had two girl cousins a grade or two ahead of me. They told me in no uncertain terms that I was never to pal around with them at school. I started hiding out in the school library during lunch. The librarian was kind to me.”

“Bless her heart.”

“I was afraid of everyone and everything. Then the worst thing happened: I started to grow.” Della stopped, feeling her face growing warm. “It's rather personal.” She glanced at him, still seeing nothing but kindness. “If you'd rather I didn't say any more …”

“Speak on.” It was his turn to look shy. “I'm already dreading what happens when Angharad starts to turn into a woman, and I'm the one required to provide the education! At least, if that's what you're driving at.”

He didn't seem to mind, which set her at ease. “That was it. I grew taller until I couldn't let out the hem in my skirt any more. And … and there was nothing I could do about my shirtwaist. It just got tighter and tighter. And then oh dear.”

She couldn't tell him about the awful day when she didn't know what was happening, except there was blood. Maybe he would understand. “I … I started crying in the library, because I thought maybe I was dying.”

He understood. “No lady had taken you aside to explain?”

She shook her head. “The librarian put her arm around me, and I told her.” Della couldn't help her smile. “She was so kind! She helped me and even gave me a book that she kept under the counter. What a relief to know I wasn't going to die!” She nudged his shoulder. “Courage, Owen! You have Mabli to help you, and Angharad is only six. Maybe you'll marry before the dread talk.”

“Maybe I'll marry just so I don't
have
to give the dread talk!” he teased in turn, then turned serious again. “So there you are, turning into a woman.”

“Every night I prayed that I wouldn't grow anymore, because I only had the one skirt. I prayed so hard, but I kept growing. Then I … I started hunching over, because that shirtwaist … Oh, gracious.”

“Shame on your aunt,” Owen said, his voice hard. He looked away. “Well, don't stop there. I'm really counting on that librarian like I have never counted on anyone before, Della.”

It was hard to continue. She wasn't going to cry, but the memory of her rescue still had the capacity to reduce her to tears of gratitude for that tall, boney spinster who kept the books of stake academy in order and had enough heart to include a terrified girl in her stewardship.

Della fumbled in her satchel for the handkerchief. She pressed it to her eyes. “Miss Ordway marched me to the domestic science teacher. Between the two of them, I learned to sew. She bought me a long skirt—claimed it was an old one of hers—and I spent my lunch hours for the next month, cutting out and sewing two shirtwaists.” She shook her head, back in that domestic science room again, thirteen and desperate. “They couldn't do anything about my shoes, but wouldn't you know, Miss Ordway found a pair of shoes in the back of her closet.”

“She bought them for you.”

“Of course she did. I believed her, though, because in spite of what Aunt Caroline told me every day, I couldn't bear to think I was a charity case. I learned to shelve books, and no one is better at alphabetizing. I had to think I was paying Miss Ordway back for her kindness.”

“You were.”

“I hope so.” She blew her nose, which set two birds to flight.

“Were things better then?” he asked, his words tentative. It warmed her heart to hear the hope in his voice, and it surprised her too that anyone could become so invested in such a horrible story.
Maybe I could have shared this sooner
, she thought.
It's been a burden
.

She shook her head. “I had clothes now, but there wasn't anything Miss Ordway could do about the teasing.”

Della could see he was puzzled. “If you have better clothes now, why the teasing?”

“You won't like this much. I know I don't.”

She shivered. She untied her sweater from around her waist and put it on. “It's getting cold.”

“No, it's not. Tell me, Della.”

“My father was the family black sheep. He never went to church and left home for the silver mines as soon as he could. He lived rough, and along the way, met a Greek woman named Olympia. She had a baby and left him and the baby as soon as she was able.”

“That would be you?”

“It would be.” She took a deep, ragged breath and wasn't surprised when his arm went around her shoulders. He was kind that way; maybe she could actually tell him and get it over with, let him think what he will. She couldn't stop the sudden flow of words. “They never married. I'm illegitimate, and my cousins spread that story far and wide at school.” She sobbed in good earnest now. “Every single day, someone would whisper to me, “Della, Della, who's your mother?’ ”

ecause his arm was around her, she felt his flinch, heard his sharp intake of breath.
I should never have told him
, she thought in misery.
What must he think of me?

“Hand me that,” he ordered, holding out his free hand for her handkerchief.

She gave it to him. He found a dry corner and blew his nose. She winced at his fierce look, until it dawned on her that his anger wasn't directed at her, not at all. She let out her own breath in a sigh of relief.

“Della, I would never scare you! I'm … I'm just fair stunned that the people who should nourish you would be so cruel.”

She shifted a little, and he released her, apologizing, but did not move away. He stared across the ridge as though trying to regain his composure.

“I can't tell you what a refuge Miss Ordway and the library were,” she said, anxious for Owen to move on. His anger at her treatment startled her. “When Clarence Nix asked me if I would like to be the librarian three nights a week, I wanted to jump up and down. Until …” She stopped, angry at herself. It seemed that every avenue she traveled down was leading her back to her life with the Anderses. She had been foolish to think it would not follow her into Winter Quarters.