Prayers for Sale (30 page)

“Your gratitude is thanks enough,” he said. “I shall file the papers for your estate and be in touch with you.”

With a very large bill, no doubt
, Hennie thought.

The con took three days and was as easy as picking up a nickel off a sidewalk. Merry Belle recovered her money, and Ned and Emma made a nice profit for theirselves. They offered to share it with Hennie, but she was uneasy about accepting ill-gotten gains.

When the attorney discovered he had been tricked, he was mad enough to chew splinters. Hennie found out about it, for the Denver address that Emma had given to the lawyer belonged to a friend of Hennie’s, a woman who was in on the swindle, although there wasn’t the least reason for the lawyer to suspect that. When he discovered he’d been fleeced, that Emma hadn’t owned the property at all, he hightailed it to the house, where the three were supposed to be. Hennie’s friend, who acted sympathetic about the lawyer’s plight, convinced the man that Emma had picked her name out of a directory, just as she had his, and she advised him to go right to the police. But of course, he couldn’t do that, for he’d have to reveal that he had tried to cheat a widow out of her inheritance.

“He got what was coming to him. God doesn’t put up with people that do meanness on and on and on,” Hennie said as
she reached over and picked a purple flower, handing it to Nit. “Wild aster, in case you don’t know it,” she said. She pointed to a white flower like a daisy, with feathery leaves that grew wild across the plots. “And that’s chamomile. It makes a real good tea.”

“I know chamomile, but I wouldn’t gather it where there’s dead bodies. Who knows what graveyard chamomile would do to you? I got mine up yonder, in that high meadow.”

Hennie was amused that Nit refused to use a cemetery flower, but she wouldn’t for the world let the girl know that.

“How did you like the life on the bad side of the law?” Nit asked slyly.

“Oh, I didn’t at all. Any minute, I expected to be exposed, but I had to do it for Merry Belle. It’s a terrible thing when luck dies. I don’t expect she could have lived without that money.” Hennie thought a minute as she stretched out her legs. “Emma asked if I’d work with her again, but I couldn’t do it. I don’t have the soul of a sharper.”

The two women laughed, then Hennie asked, “Have you got your wood in for winter? You can’t go anywhere in autumn without seeing men sawing their winter’s wood. At least, I won’t have to do that anymore, for I’ve got enough to last me till I leave out.” Hennie told the girl, “You’ll need a mountain of wood.”

“Dick’s been at it. He says when he’s done, he’ll build me a chicken coop, and we’ll send off for chickens. I sure would like eggs come winter, and they’re too precious at the store.”

“You can’t have chickens in Middle Swan. They’ll freeze on the roost—unless you keep them in the house.”

The girl frowned at the words and gave an embarrassed
laugh. “Oh, hello, I never thought of that.” She stretched her legs, too, and held her face to the sun, in no hurry to leave. “I saw smoke from our chimney go down to the ground. That means fall weather in three days,” Nit said. “Chestnut weather, that’s what we called fall time at home.”

Hennie sighed. “It’s the prettiest time of year, autumn is, but the coming of the leaves means snow’s not far behind. I’ve always hated to see winter’s dark days come on, this year more than ever, because it means my time on the Swan is almost over.” The old woman didn’t want to think about that, so she asked, “What does Doc say about the baby?”

Nit looked at the old woman curiously. “He doesn’t know about it. I’ll send for him when the pains start.”

“Some go to see him earlier to make sure everything’s all right. It might ease your mind if you did.”

“Well, I don’t know why. I wouldn’t go to a doctor at all if there was a granny woman around, but there’s not. I never trusted doctors much. It seems to me they wouldn’t know common sense if they met it in the road.”

The old woman stood then, for the sun had moved, and there was a chill under the pine trees. The wind had come up, too, and it rattled the dry leaves on the bony aspen branches. “You go on back. I believe I’ll walk a little,” she told Nit.

The two women went through the arch with
END OF DAY CEMETERY
in cut-out iron letters, and stopped to say good-bye. The girl shivered, wrapping her thin coat about her belly, which was shaped like a rain barrel, and said, “That wind searches me.” She asked if Hennie wanted her to go along for company, for the path Hennie was about to turn onto was rocky.

“No, I’ve walked these mountains since they were new,” Hennie replied, looking up at the hills, which were yellow now in the harsh light. “Tap ’er light,” she said by way of farewell.

“Don’t trot yourself to death,” the girl warned.

The old woman would have liked the company, but she knew the girl was cold. Besides, sometimes she needed to be alone, especially now, because thoughts of death had intruded all afternoon—Billy’s, Jake’s, Sarah’s. Her own days, she feared, were close to spent, and her death would be hastened with the move below, for she was like a turkey that can’t be enclosed. She had to range free to live.

Hennie watched the girl until she was out of sight, then stooped down and picked a spray of purple asters, which she tucked into the buttonhole of her coat. “Jake,” she said out loud, as she started up the path, “I got to settle things for that one before I go. You take it up with the Lord.”

Walking with sure footsteps, Hennie followed the path past the willows and the stumps of trees that had been cut long ago for the mines, whose headframes rose above the pines. There seemed to be more gallows frames than trees along the trail. She was thirsty, but the trickle of water left in the spoiled river the dredge had worked ran red where it leached the iron out of the rocks. Hennie made her way across the piles of glacial rocks to where the dredge squatted in its pond and stood there, watching the ugly thing scoop away an embankment across from her. She stared at the bucket line, thinking, until she was jolted by the long screech of the shift whistle.

Then a voice called from the gangplank, “Hey, old woman.”
Hennie turned to see Dick Spindle waving to her. “Wait there. I’ll be right quick.” He disappeared for a moment, then came running down the gangplank, past the men leaving for the day, dodging a man who had stuck out his elbow just as Dick went by. “This here’s for you,” he said, handing her a fine walking stick. “I found it this morning, and I couldn’t hardly leave it there. I knew I’d find somebody to give it to. I’m awful bad to keep things.”

Hennie examined the stick and pronounced it the best she’d ever seen, and it was, sturdy, just the right height, wind-polished to a shine, even a knot on top for a knob. “It would tickle me to use it,” she said, by way of compliment.

“I’ll walk along the drop side of this foxpath if you like. I’m off shift.”

“I’d be pleasured.” Hennie was amused that Dick had picked the outside of the path along the mountain edge. Her own footing was surer than the man’s, she figured, but she wouldn’t for anything tell him so, for he had been mannerable. “I just left your wife,” she said.

“Nit’s partial to you. I don’t believe she’d have made it up here in the mountains if you hadn’t tended to her.”

Such talk embarrassed Hennie, and she changed the subject. “You liking the gold boat any better?”

“No, ma’am. It makes hell look like a lightnin’ bug. Nit, she tries to be in good heart, but I know she worries. Sometimes I figure I’m on borrowed time, what with Frank getting killed instead of me. I believe Mr. Hemp wishes it had been me. That’s all I got to say about it.”

Hennie didn’t push the young man. Instead, she said, “Mrs. Spindle told me you like it fine in Middle Swan.”

“That’s about right. I got no hankering to go back to Kentucky, nor Nit, either. I told her when the dredge shuts down for the winter, we can go on home, see that little grave, but she doesn’t care for nothing that way now. She’s got a brave heart, and she’s thinking about the new baby. I sure hope . . . If something happened to me . . .” His voice trailed off. In a minute, he said, “I don’t know what she’ll do when you leave out. Nit says you’ve been a friend and a mother to her.”

“There are others—”

“Not like you,” Dick said.

The two of them walked the rest of the way in silence. At the place of parting, Hennie put her hand on Dick’s arm. “I don’t want you to be in discomfit, Mr. Spindle. Women here are as tough as these mountains,” she said, “and your wife’s a mountain woman now. She can handle anything that comes down her trail.”

Hennie Comfort felt Mondayish as she watched the snow come down outside her window, a real blizzard. The flakes were thick and soft and endless, and fell straight from the sky, as if they were being dumped from a giant bushel basket. She sat beside her quilt frame and stared through the green leaves of geraniums that all but filled the frost-etched window, to the snow beyond. Her stitches were loopy and uneven and would have to come out. She might as well quilt with noodle as a needle, she thought. Hennie’s mind was troubled, and she couldn’t understand why. The stove wood was stacked in a box in the kitchen, the brass coal shuttle was full, and the pot of chili that simmered on the back of the range would last until the storm was over. Besides, she had the memory of the night before to keep her
warm. She had invited the young couple to supper again, along with Tom Earley.

He’d remained in the high country long after he usually went below. “I like this place above all others, although I won’t like it at all if you aren’t here. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t return next summer,” he told her the week before, over supper at the Grubstake. “But of course, you’ll return,” he added with a little too much feeling.

She reached for her old friend’s hand and held it a long time. It wasn’t necessary to tell Tom how much his friendship had meant to her over the long years, any more than it was for Tom to tell her how much he cared about her. Neither one of them was ready to say good-bye to the friend of a lifetime; nor did either want to say farewell to Middle Swan.

“Of course I’ll be back. I’m not ready to say deep enough to the Tenmile,” Hennie said, knowing even as the words left her mouth that they might not be true. “Most likely, I’ll live to be a hundred. I believe I have enough money to do that. And if I don’t, there’s Mae, not that I care to be beholden.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about money.” Tom dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, and Hennie understood that he must have made provision for her in his will if he crossed over before she did. Although she’d found out after Jake died that Tom had arranged with the banker to help her if she ever needed it, she didn’t know he’d extended that responsibility after his death.

“You’re staying in the high country mighty late this year,” Hennie said.

“I’m waiting you out. I’ll go down when you do,” Tom replied. “Are you ready to go to Iowa?”

“I’ll never be ready, but I’ve sorted through my things and set aside what I want to go with me. I’ve got most everything I want to take boxed up, except for my clothes and my quilt frame. I’ll leave the rest behind.” She paused and added, “I wish I could leave my worries behind, too.”

Tom didn’t say anything but waited for her to continue. He’d always been a good listener.

“I’m still worried about Mrs. Spindle,” she continued. “Most likely, she’ll have the baby before I leave, so I’ll know whether the two of them are all right. But I’d feel better if I knew Dick didn’t have to go to the dredge of a morning.” Hennie shook her head at the thought.

“There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“That’s just it. I wish I could.” She smiled then and held up her glass and said, “That’s enough gloomy talk. Luck. To them, and to us, too.”