Carla Kelly (8 page)

“Aye. From Maria to William, it is that, but William isn't walking yet. Stand back a little. That's safer.”

Her eyes lively, a girl opened the door, clapped her hands and pulled in Angharad. “Brother Davis, let her stay because she is
essential
to our plans.”

“Mary is the dramatic one,” Owen said as the girl tugged his daughter toward the stairs. “Ten minutes only, now.”

“A Mary and a Maria?” Della asked.

“Winter Quarters is full of Marys and Marias, and Margarads and Marians. And here is She Who Remains Calm. Sister Parmley, let me introduce our homeless teacher, Miss Anders.”

Della found both of her hands in Sister Parmley's grasp, no mean feat, because the woman was carrying someone who must be William, tucked against her hip.

“Sister Anders, you're a welcome sight!” Sister Parmley said, pulling Della into the house in much the way her daughter had tugged Angharad upstairs.

“I hate to trouble you,” Della began, but Sister Parmley interrupted her with a laugh.

“What's one more person in this menagerie?” she asked. “Thank you for steering her here, Owen. Her luggage is already upstairs.”

“Well, then, I believe I will leave you ladies. Just send Angharad home in ten minutes, even if Mary, the dramatic one, droops and dies on the doorstep.”

“Oh, you! I will.”

Owen started to close the door, but Della opened it again, following him onto the porch.

“Thank you, Brother Davis,” she said. “You've been a help. I'm interested in seeing your carved alphabet tomorrow, provided Mrs. Clayson lets me in.”

She couldn't have said why, precisely, but Della didn't want him to go. “One more thing, sir: my Uncle Jesse told me I might want to join the ward choir. He said every choir needs contraltos, maybe even the one here.”

“You'll be welcome, I'm sure. Richard Evans—where my daughter stays—is the conductor.”

“Will I … will I see you tomorrow?”

“Not likely. I'm in Number Four tomorrow. See you Sunday. You can tell me what you think of the choir.”

f Della was prepared to feel shy around the Parmleys, the feeling lasted only as long as it took for Sister Parmley to sit her down in the kitchen and put a bowl of beans in front of her to string and snap.

“I'm certain you never did this in the Anders house, but I could use the help,” the bishop's wife said.

“I've snapped many a bean,” Della said. “I spent one summer after school was out, cooking in a camp where the men were laying telephone lines. Mostly I washed dishes.”

There was no disguising Sister Parmley's amazement. “But your uncle … and word has got around about a telegram from Jesse Knight himself! Why would you be a kitchen flunky?”

Della paused mid-snap. “Word travels pretty rapidly here.”

“It's a small canyon,” Sister Parmley said. “I believe Mrs. Perkins in my husband's office has some sort of
bwca
of her own to speed news around.” She touched Della's hand. “Even the wealthiest of men are wise, who keep their dear ones grounded in honest toil.”

If you only knew
, Della thought. “I do hope people don't think I am something I am not. All I want to do is teach here this year.”

“That is all that matters,” Sister Parmley said. She set William in his highchair and turned her attention to the stew on the range top. “Mrs. Perkins was right about one thing. May I call you Della?”

“Certainly.”

“She said she'd never seen anyone here who looks like you.”

Della laughed out loud. “I intend to take that news however I want!”

“She came here, her eyes wide, and told me, ‘The new teacher is
exotic
.’ ” Sister Parmley put a handful of the raw beans on the highchair tray, and William chortled.

Della tickled him, and he laughed some more. “I don't look like a single Anders because my mother was Greek.” She decided to take a page from Owen Davis's book and turn the subject. “Tell me, what nationalities are in this canyon? I've met the Welsh. You and your husband sound quite English, and someone named Heikki Luoma and his brother Juho tossed my trunk around like it was a bandbox. What handsome men.”

Sister Parmley started on the beans too. “Thomas and I are both English, but we met here. His brother William and Mary—she's Welsh—live next door with their brood. William is foreman in Number Four. It's our newest mine and the best one. Andrew Hood is close by with his own menagerie. He is from Scotland, and Rachel is from Wales. The Muhlsteins are Swiss, I believe. There's a Frenchman or two. No Greeks yet. South in the canyon is Finn Town. I can't pronounce their names, but their wives make the best Christmas cookies.”

“Are they all church members?”

“Mostly the English, Scots, and Welsh are. You'll find this interesting: Everyone attends our church parties. That's how I know about the Finns’ Christmas cookies.” Della saw the quiet pride in her eyes. “We're a family here. We rejoice in each other's successes and cry at everyone's sorrows. My Thomas works hard to make it so.”

Della nodded and worked in silence, thinking of the Molly Bee and the generous women there who raised her when her father was in the mine.
We all ate Lumpy Dick when times were lean and oyster stew from cans when times were better
, she reminded herself. She stopped snapping, struck again by her similarity to Angharad.

“Brother Davis is raising Angharad by himself?” she asked.

“He is. You might want to call him Brother Owen; we do. There are so many Davises here,” Sister Parmley said. “Gwyna died when Angharad was born.” Her eyes filled with tears at the memory. “ ’Tis sad to see a man stand at an open grave, holding a wee infant in his arms. He's a good father, though.”

“Angharad showed me her dollhouse, and I saw carved boxes on their table,” Della said. “Why doesn't he just come out of the pit and work with wood? It has to be better than mining coal.”

The other woman put her hand over Della's, pressing down, and her voice was firm. “Sister Anders, learn something that will keep you out of trouble in Winter Quarters: coal mining is not something a man does when he can do nothing else.”

“I didn't mean to imply … ”

The pressure increased. “These men are proud that they daily face the challenge of the pits. Please
never
pity them or us and you will do well here.”

Della absorbed the gentle rebuke. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, her eyes on the bowl of beans. “It's hard here, isn't it?”

“Very.” The word was softly spoken. Sister Parmley touched Della's chin and lifted it so they were eye to eye again. “I never met better people; neither will you. Lesson learned?”

“Yes.”

Sister Parley got up. “Good. When you finished those beans, there's a pan on the stove for them. William is drooping. If I put him down for a nap right now—I'll rue it later when he's up all hours tonight—we might have a fighting chance to get supper on the table when my Thomas comes home.”

My Thomas
. The words were almost a caress. Della continued snapping beans. She tried to think of a single time she had heard Aunt Caroline say Uncle Karl's name that way and came up dry.

Dinner was on time. Everyone sat cheek to jowl around the table, the talk lively. William, resuscitated now, banged on his highchair tray with his spoon, reminding his oldest sister to supply more bread. Without being asked, Della took her turn refilling the bowl of potatoes and beans. Shy at first, but with growing confidence, she told the Parmleys about her two years teaching on Salt Lake's west side, and her own experience with children of immigrants.

“Sister Anders, you might be asked to take some of the Finnish women into your classroom,” the bishop said.

“What do these Finnish ladies do in the classroom?” Della asked.

“I believe they mostly listen and absorb what they can of English and the rudiments of writing.”

“Mrs. Clayson allows that?”

He nodded. “She leaves it up to the teacher. I hope you are willing.”

“I am. I expect they are also useful in keeping order.”

“You'll have no trouble with order. I'll guarantee that one or two words to a father or mother will result in cherubs in the classroom. No one here jokes about education.”

She told them about sitting on the flatbed that afternoon and watching the faces of the miners when Israel Bowman announced she was a teacher.

“
You
got to ride the flatbed?” Joseph, one of the sons, asked, obviously hearing only that part of her narrative. His eyes widened in amazement.

“I did. Was I privileged?” Della teased in turn. “Mostly I didn't have a choice.”

Joseph glanced at his parents with a wounded look. “I tried to ride the flatbed and it was bread and water in my room for one whole day. I nearly starved.”

Della turned away to cover her smile with her napkin. “Joseph, two Finnish men even tossed me onto the flatbed! I suppose I should have bread and water in my room too.”

Everyone laughed, even William, who looked around at his family, pleased to be in on the joke.

“No. You're way too old for bread and water,” Joseph replied when the laughter died down, only to cause it to rise again. Sister Parmley laughed so hard she had to dab at her eyes.

“Children! She'll abandon us if we keep this up,” the bishop's wife said. “Thomas, what plans have you for Sister Anders that don't involve bread and water?”

After a lingering look at the roast beef, the bishop pushed away from the table. “I'll make an announcement in church, inviting someone to take her in. Sister Anders, you would agree to pay room and board somewhere?”

“Most certainly.”

“I've already made some inquiries among my flock. We'll find you a suitable place.” He looked around the table, satisfaction large on his face. “I fear you'll be coming down a peg or two in the world, no matter what we find, but if the Finns and the flatbed didn't frighten you away, you'll rub along pretty well here.”

“Bishop, I'm not coming down a peg,” she assured him. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn't believe her, but everyone was up then and clearing away the dishes. Maybe there would be time later to acquaint him with her actual circumstances.

“Be sure of one thing, Sister Anders,” he said, taking her hand. “You're welcome in Winter Quarters. It's a narrow canyon, but there is room for all.”

She carried that thought with her through kitchen cleanup with Maria and Mary, shy at first, but laughing and telling her about the school by the time the last dish was put away and the dish towels draped on chairs to dry. By the time they finished, Della was so tired that she wanted to put her head on her arms and just rest at the kitchen table.

Maria and Mary wouldn't hear of it, so she spent the evening with them in the parlor, playing Chinese checkers while the bishop read the newspaper and Sister Parmley rocked William to sleep. Della wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but she had no idea where she was to sleep.

Bishop Parmley finally laid down his newspaper and took a good look at her.

“Mary Ann, we're remiss,” he said. “Our guest probably rose with the chickens this morning to get here. She's about to dive face-first into the marbles.”