Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch) (14 page)

Saturday promised to be a pleasurable day---sunshiny,
but not too hot. Paul joined Amelia on the porch for their usual morning visit.
She persuaded him to allow her to practice playing his piano, but she had to
agree to accompany him to lunch first.

He returned at twelve-thirty, and the two ambled over
to Sarah Jane’s, arm in arm, delighted to be in each other’s company.

After a light meal, Paul escorted Amelia to his large,
elegantly decorated home and guided her on a brief tour of the first floor
entryway, parlor, music room, dining room and kitchen. He told her the private
housekeeper’s quarters were off the kitchen, and he introduced her to Mrs.
Scranton, leaving instructions for her not to disturb Amelia’s practice except
to bring her tea later in the afternoon. There were five more rooms on the
second floor and five on the third, but he had to get back to work and didn’t
have time to show them to her. Making sure she was comfortable before he left,
Paul thought how splendid it was to have her in his home. It was as if she
belonged there and filled the emptiness of the home.

›
›
›

When Amelia heard his footsteps walking away from the
house, she began her practice session in the usual way with finger stretching
pieces. Gradually, she found herself playing as if no time had lapsed at all
since the last occasion she had skillfully guided her long fingers across the
ivory keys.

It felt good to be playing again, but it took her
several hours to bring herself to play the piece she wanted to perform for her
Aunt that night. She was grateful for the tea and biscuit cookies Mrs. Scranton
brought to her later. During the break, she resolved to play the special sonata.
She stretched her fingers, took a deep breath, and then began to play the
treasured piece, Braham’s Sonata in F Sharp Minor.

›
›
›

Paul walked onto the porch to come for Amelia, but she
was concentrating so hard she hadn’t heard his footsteps. He paused at the
front door, straining to hear the beautiful music that was wafting out to him. Trying
not to make a sound, he entered the house and crept through the parlor into the
music room. There he beheld the most wondrous sight he could have ever
envisioned.

Amelia sat at the piano, playing with the skill and
ease of an accomplished pianist in a renowned concert hall in New York City. He
watched her admiringly.

However, it soon became evident that something wasn’t
right. Amelia had been holding back tears, but they now were trailing down her
face and alighting upon her arms and hands as she played. Her breathing became
deeper and deeper until she suddenly collapsed face down onto her folded arms
on the keyboard, striking a loud, dreadful chord. She sobbed uncontrollably.

Paul rushed to her side, sat on the bench beside her,
and picked her up in his arms. Amelia allowed herself to be swallowed up in his
embrace and continued to weep against his broad chest, unable to speak for
almost fifteen minutes. He stroked her hair and kissed her on her head, but
mostly just allowed whatever distressed her to wash away with the tears. When
she finally calmed herself, she drew back from him.

“That was my mother’s favorite piece,” she began
quietly. “That was all she ever wanted from me each year on her birthday. I
played it for her when she was sick, and it seemed to comfort her. One day her
breathing had become irregular and she was more quiet than usual. Nothing the
Doctor seemed to do for her made any difference. Finally, she asked me to play
the sonata for her. She said that it would soothe her tired body.”

Amelia paused and Paul caressed her face with his hand.
The tears again trickled slowly down her cheeks, and he caught them with his
fingers.

“I wanted to stay in the room with her,” she
continued.”But the Doctor strongly insisted that I perform for her. I went to
the piano and played. Paul, I played the piece like I never had before. It was
as if something inside was urging me on. When I finished I went to her bedside.”
Amelia’s head sank onto Paul’s shoulder. “And she was gone home to heaven.”

He wrapped his arms around her, his heart breaking for
her. He felt inadequate in knowing how to comfort her.

“I want to play that piece for Aunt Corrin tonight for
her birthday present. It would be my way of showing her how much she has come
to mean to me, but I don’t know if I can get through it now.”

“No one expects you to do more than you are willing or
capable of, Amelia. If you’re not ready, don’t put yourself through this. Couldn’t
you just play something else for her? Your music is so beautiful; I think
Corrin would enjoy whatever you played for her.”

“But I want to play that one for her, Paul.”

“Well, perhaps now that you’ve played it for the first
time since your mother’s death, you may be able to get through it if you gave
it another try.”

“ Perhaps . . .” She repositioned herself on the bench
and raised her hands to the keys in preparation for another attempt to play the
fine sonata she longed to give to her aunt as a gift.

Paul arose to sit on a chair.

“No,” she tenderly enjoined him. “Please don’t go. I
think I can do it with you beside me.”

Paul’s heart turned tender toward her. He placed his
arm around her and kissed her temple. “I know you can do this.” He then dropped
his arm so as not to interfere with her performance.

She played softly at first as if unsure of herself. Twice
she almost stopped due to the uncontrollable urge to cry, but she just let the
tears slide where they wished and continued without missing a note. When she
finished, she beamed toward Paul through a tear-stained face.

“I’m so proud of you,” he told her.” What you’ve just
done today is admirable. But I think you’ve pushed yourself beyond your
limitations and need to get away for awhile.” Paul produced a handkerchief and
dried her tears.  He stood, pulled her to her feet, placed her cane in her hand,
and led her through the house and out the front door.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace restful.” He lead her down the lane and
then to the edge of town to the river.

“Is this a creek?”

“It’s the Colorado River. My mill’s not far from here.
The river is what turns the paddle wheel that turns the cogs that turns the
belts that runs the saws that cut the wood into boards. How’s that for an
overview of my operations?”

Amelia smiled and he was glad to see it. He led her to
the river bank and carefully helped her to sit down.

They sat in silence for awhile, Amelia listening and
thinking and Paul thoroughly overwhelmed by his love for her, drinking in her
sweet presence and beauty as one would wantonly drink in the rejuvenating
waters of the river.

“Take your shoes off and we’ll go wading.” Paul
removed his shoes and socks and cuffed his trousers almost up to his knees.

Amelia was reluctant at first, but soon complied. After
removing her footwear, she stood and tucked one corner of her skirts up under
her sash. He took her by one arm and cautiously led her to the water’s edge.

“Step down now. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let go of you.
Here, I’ll go first.” Without letting go of her Paul stepped backward into the
water, leading her into the river’s edge. “It’s not very deep or running very
quickly here.”

Amelia took a deep breath, held very tightly to his
arms and cautiously put one foot into the water.

“Oooh! It’s cold!” She put her other foot alongside
the first.

He loosened his grip on her.

“Please, don’t let go of me!” she cried.

“You’re all right.” He kept his voice calm and
soothing. “Move your feet around, there aren’t any rocks at this spot, just
squishy mud.”

She took a couple steps forward as Paul stepped
backward, and then let go of her altogether and stepped away. Amelia stood very
still, as if frozen in the mud, cocking her head, listening to discern where he
had gone.

“I’m right here. Don’t panic,” he called from a few
feet away.

Finally relaxing, she reached down and let the water
swirl around her hands, and then dabbed her eyes with some of the river water. She
reached back down again and cupped her hands to catch some drank. She drank
several handfuls which definitely refreshed and invigorated her. Her face had
relaxed and a small smile played at the corner of her lips.

“Paul?”

“I’m still here.”

His answer had pinpointed his exact location, and then
with one fast move Amelia scooped as much water as she could and heaved it at
him.

He was taken totally off guard, let out a loud shout,
and stood for a moment, holding his arms out to drip-dry. “That’s freezing!”

Amelia giggled uncontrollably. He sloshed through the
water toward her. She turned to escape, but only managed to go a short distance
onto the bank when he caught her.

“An eye for an eye and wet clothes for wet clothes!” He
pushed her backward toward the water’s edge.

“No! Please! Don’t! Paul, I’m sorry! I won’t do it
again! Please don’t throw me in!”

He laughed at how she was begging him for mercy. And
he liked how she was holding onto him tightly. After a moment he stopped
pushing her and instead, pulled her to his chest. He wrapped one arm around her
and tilted her head upward with the other.

“Amelia Jackson. You’re an angel and I adore you.” He
kissed her lovingly and with all the fervor that was burned within him. To his
elation, she slipped her arms around him and kissed him back for the first time.
He couldn’t pull her close enough to him as his hands shifted from her face to
the back of her head, down her back. They stopped kissing for a moment and Paul
held her face in his hands.

“I love you, Angel.”  He resumed kissing her.

They finally checked themselves, and just held each
other for awhile, two hearts pounding above the roar of the river.

“You’re really wet.” Amelia said impishly when they
broke apart.

“I wonder why.” He laughed. “Oh, that reminds me. I
hope for your sake that my watch didn’t get ruined.” He withdrew the gold watch
from its pocket and opened it. “You’re lucky, it’s fine.”

“May I hold it?”

“The watch?”

She nodded and he gingerly placed the watch in her
hands. She rubbed the cover with her fingers in much the same way she did when
she read that Braille book last week. There was a raised picture of what she
thought was a train engine on some tracks. Feeling the rest of the precious
possession, Amelia rubbed over some scratches in the inside cover.

“Is there an inscription here?”

“Very perceptive.”

“Read it to me, please.”

“It says, Paul; Prosperity, Health, Happiness, Love---May
these be your future. JC”

“JC?”

“Jeremiah Cowan.”

“He gave you this watch?” She smiled and nodded as if
she understood their friendship.

Perhaps Corrin told her tales of their youthful
escapades on their trip to Glenwood Springs. “Yeah. On opening day at my Mill
about fifteen years ago. He said if I was going to start acting like a big
businessman, I’d better start looking like one too.” Paul grinned because she
was smiling at him, and it captivated him.

“What time is it, by the way? Aunt Corrin wants me
home by five. It’s going to take us time to transform ourselves into the
“Belles of the Ball.’”

“Well, I’d say it’s time you start to think up an
excuse as to why you’re going to be late, young lady. Better get your shoes
back on.”

He hurried her back home, and upon arriving at the
door, the two were greeted by a frazzled Corrin Dannon.

“You’re late, Sweetie! I was beginning to worry about
you. I have a sandwich and some juice for you in your room. You’d better eat up.
I have a bath waiting for you too; you don’t want it to cool off.” She grabbed
Amelia and headed upstairs.

“Remember, you promised to save me a dance tonight!”
Paul called up to her.

“I remember.” came the gentle voice of an angel.

He left the saloon with a smile on his face and
excitement in his heart.

Jeremiah knocked on Amelia’s door, fully expecting to
be scolded for arriving later than he had promised. But nothing had prepared
him for the breathtaking vision that stood before him as she opened the door. He
scrutinized her from her head to her feet.

The tasteful pink and burgundy gown she wore
accentuated the proportions of her feminine curves and the color set off her
pretty face and sparkling eyes. The front of her hair had been twisted and
pulled back and secured with a burgundy bow and was left to trickle down her
spine.

“Hello, Jeremiah, how are you this fine evening?” When
he didn’t answer right away, she reached out her hands, waving them through the
air in front of her. “Jeremiah?”