Amanda's Beau (6 page)

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Gil Gladney couldn't say what had compelled him to make his way to the Stewart place. Distracted by hopeful thoughts of Nate Phillips coming to excavate the old ruins and more troubled ones concerning Oz Lancaster and his irresponsible son, Gil had decided not to go to church services. Instead, he went fishing. He enjoyed fishing. It was restful. He could think without the usual distractions. When he caught several brown trout—each weighing about two pounds—he felt quite pleased with himself.

Once the idea of taking the fish to Amanda Dale popped into his head, he couldn't dispel it. He didn't want to. Gil tried to convince himself it was merely a gesture of Christian charity, but deep down, knew it was more than a kindly gesture. More than anything, he wanted to see Amanda again. Yesterday, he'd felt drawn to her in a way he couldn't explain. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why the woman wasn't already married. She was beautiful and personable. Maybe Amanda had been married and was now a widow like her sister. He dismissed the idea quickly when he recalled Rex first introducing his aunt as Miss Dale.

She'd come up from Las Cruces following Randall Stewart's fatal accident. Gil didn't know much else about her. Maybe she had a beau in Las Cruces — some worthy man waiting with anxious anticipation for her return. This prospect was too dismal to think about for long. He wanted to learn more about Amanda Dale — a lot more. Yesterday, he'd enjoyed listening to her laugh and had admired the way her dark brown eyes sparkled when the students got carried away by tales of long-lost Spanish gold.

Energized by a surge of hopeful expectancy, Gil walked the mile back to the schoolhouse, dropped off his fishing pole and retrieved the copy of Ben-Hur. The day was sunny and brisk. He sang a few hymns and folk songs as he walked, his long-legged strides carrying him quickly from the village to the Stewart place. When he caught sight of Amanda on the front porch, she appeared to be napping in the rocking chair. She probably didn't get many peaceful moments to call her own — not with an invalid sister and a newborn baby to look after.

When she startled awake, Gil felt a stab of regret for having disturbed her solitude. He ceased singing. As he watched Amanda dash into the house, he wondered if the baby had begun crying or if Mrs. Stewart had called out to her? Already feeling like a nuisance, Gil promised himself he would not stay long. After presenting her with the trout and the book, he would be on his way.

"Mr. Gladney, good morning," Amanda greeted him, as she returned to the porch.

Gil noticed she'd removed her apron. She looked particularly pretty in her red-flowered gingham. Her dark eyes glowed as her full lips curved in a welcoming smile. Yesterday, he'd paid her a light-hearted compliment. But this morning, feeling unexplainably shy, he couldn't bring himself to do so. He got right to the point. "I brought you some brown trout and the book I mentioned yesterday."

"Rex will be happy to have fried fish for Sunday dinner. You must stay too," she urged.

Gil was about to protest when she insisted. "He'll be so disappointed if you don't." Something in her glowing eyes conveyed a silent message. She wanted him to stay too. He allowed himself to be persuaded. She'd taken the book from him and clutched it to her chest as though it was something precious to be securely held on to.

"Let me clean and gut these for you before I come in," Gil offered. Smiling, Amanda nodded and went back inside. She returned with a knife and a platter from the kitchen. Then she told him where to go and asked him to dump the skin and bones on the compost heap near the vegetable garden. The red dog, with broken tail and patchy fur, followed him around to the back and watched him with friendly brown eyes.

"Bonita? Is that your name?" The dog wagged her tail with more enthusiasm. Gil chuckled as he cleaned the fish. Only a boy desperately wanting a dog of his own could have come up with such an unsuitable name for this ragamuffin creature. After washing his hands at the outdoor pump, Gil carried the platter of trout into the kitchen. His eyes were immediately drawn toward the baby sleeping peacefully in the roasting pan near the oven door. She was covered with a pale blue blanket.

"Look at this little cherub," he murmured softly. Bending over, his hands resting on his bent knees, Gil peered down at Minnie. "She's grown, Miss Dale, since the last time I saw her. Indeed she has."

"Mr. Snow and Jerry think so too." Her voice sounded husky with emotion.

"I'm sure of it. Her color's good too." Reaching out, he took the baby's small hand in his own. It was so tiny compared to his, but perfectly formed. "She's one of God's miracles," he said with certainty. "Has her mother given her a name yet?"

"We're still calling her Minnie for now."

Gil stroked the baby's silky cheek with one finger. "It seems to suit her."

Amanda nodded. Glancing up, he noticed her tender expression. Again, he wondered why such a woman didn't have a husband and children of her own. She would be an excellent mother; he felt sure of it. Doctor Morgan sang her praises. Most of the concerned community members realized Amanda Dale's loving kindness had kept the premature infant alive this long. Should the child thrive and Ella Stewart recover her health, it would be due in no small part to Amanda's tireless efforts, as well as God's mercy.

Rising to his full height, Gil cleared his throat. "One day your sister will be thankful for all you've done for Minnie. I'm glad Mrs. Stewart has you to help her during this difficult time. Rex couldn't have managed on his own."

Amanda blushed and focused her attention upon the stove. "How about a cup of coffee?" She poured him one before he could decline. When she brought it to him, their hands nearly touched. Her proximity made his pulse race. He took a sip. The coffee was hot and strong, just the way he liked it. When she sat down at the kitchen table, he did the same.

"Did you send the telegram to your friend, Mr. Phillips, back in Indiana?" she asked.

Gil nodded. "Made it to the telegraph office just in the knick of time. Old Hiram Lister was none too pleased. He was getting ready to close up for the day."

"Do you think he will come to see the ruins?"

"If he's in the States, I'm sure he'll come right away. If he's in a foreign country somewhere, like Egypt or one of the Greek islands, he won't be able to get away so easily." He shook his head at her offer to refill his cup. "Still, he may make the journey anyway. Archeology is such a new scholastic pursuit, compared to botany or medicine, for instance. Every man hopes to make a unique discovery of his own. Our ancient Indian settlement could make Nate famous."

Amanda laughed and shrugged a shoulder. "Funny to think of those old crumbled down walls and the pottery jars and baskets buried inside making anyone famous." After a brief pause, she asked, "Do you want to be famous too some day?"

"No," he replied with prompt certitude. "I want to be happy and content."

A flash of understanding passed between them. Gil seized his opportunity to learn more about this intriguing woman who made his pulse quicken. "Miss Dale, you were living in Las Cruces, I believe, before coming here to help out," he prompted.

"I lived at home with our father. He was a blacksmith, but he'd become quite ill more than a year ago. He died just a few weeks before Randall had his accident."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd lost your father so recently. Is your mother still living?"

"No," Amanda told him. "She too was an invalid for many years. Mother suffered with pain in her back and legs. In the last months of her life, she couldn't walk at all. I've been taking care of one parent or another since I was quite young."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, her face a portrait of tremulous courage. After a moment's silence, he said, "I find your selflessness to be quite admirable, Miss Dale."

Seeming reluctant to accept the compliment, she confessed, "No, I'm not admirable. I'm often impatient and short-tempered."

Gil admired her all the more for her honesty. "I'm sure you're looking forward to the day when you can return to your home in Las Cruces. Your friends there must surely miss you and perhaps… maybe there's even an impatient beau waiting for your return," he hinted.

She blushed prettily, staring him straight in the eye. "There is no beau, Mr. Gladney."

His heart soared. How glad I am to hear it! But all he said to her was, "Frankly, I'm surprised. Of course, I don't mean to pry."

Amanda's cheeks burned even brighter. Gil struggled to come up with some witty pleasantry to say to put her at her ease. Instead, he found himself tongue-tied and silently berated himself for being such a numbskull. His friend Nate Phillips was never at a loss for words around a beautiful woman, as he recalled. He decided to pursue a safer course.

"How is Mrs. Stewart today? Any improvement? If you'd like, I could carry her to the rocker on the porch. A bit of fresh air and sunshine might be just the thing for her."

Sitting up a little straighter in her chair, Amanda gave him a sad smile. "Thank you, but not today." Then her face brightened, as though she'd had second thoughts. "Would you mind talking to her about Rex? Tell her what a bright boy he is, and how well he's doing in school. Would you do that? You're his teacher, and she knows how much Rex admires you. Ella knows he has ambitions of being a teacher himself some day. Perhaps she might…" Amanda paused, leaving her speculation unfinished.

"I'm happy to help in any way I can," he assured her.

She rose from her chair. Gil did the same. With a quick nod, she indicated he should follow her to her sister's room. He remembered meeting Ella Stewart several times before in the past year he'd been teaching in the village. He'd considered her an attractive young woman, short and fair, and full of life. Rex favored her in looks and vitality.

But this bed-ridden woman, deathly pale and thin, was a mere shadow of the Ella Stewart he'd met before. Her brown eyes were blank. The dark smudges under her eyes looked like bruises. The woman's golden-red hair appeared dry and brittle. Her frailty was in stark contrast to Amanda's dark good looks and rosy health.

Amanda pulled up a chair beside the bed. "Sit here, Mr. Gladney." She touched her sister on the shoulder and said, "Ella, Rex's teacher has come to see you. I'm sure you remember Mr. Gladney. He wants to tell you how well Rex is doing with his studies."

Giving him a nod, Amanda encouraged Gil to speak. An expression of hope flitted across her lovely face. Inwardly, Gil shuddered. He was more than willing to boast of Rex's accomplishments in the classroom. The boy was an apt pupil. But as he looked at Ella Stewart's shrunken form lying in the bed, his heart felt chilled. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast odd shadows, like dark, clawing fingers inching their way across the quilt toward the sick woman's face. A nagging fear seized him. He doubted anything he had to say about young Rex Stewart's academic performance could save his mother from her decline. Ella Stewart was going to die.