Twenty-Three
1881
The soft breeze floating off the Mosquito Range made the air feel more like midsummer than early June in Leadville. Which meant Annabelle Lassiter could almost declare mud season officially over. Though today’s walk to the post office hadn’t resulted in a letter from her aunt Celeste, surely she could escape this town and its painful reminders soon.
She paused as the parsonage came into view. A man waited on the porch. Annabelle sighed. Her father’s mission to care for the miners in Leadville was wonderful, but these days, they had more hungry people showing up on their doorstep than she knew what to do with. They had food aplenty, but Annabelle’s heart didn’t have the strength to keep working when it seemed like every day held a new heartbreak.
Annabelle pasted a smile on her face as she walked up the steps of the parsonage to greet the man so covered in grime she couldn’t make out his features. Probably a younger man, considering his hair was still dark. This place had a way of aging a person so that appearances could be deceiving. Two white eyes blinked at her.
“Supper’s not ’til seven.” She’d learned not to be too friendly, too welcoming, lest her words be misconstrued. Besides, her face was too weighed down by her heart to find it in her to give this stranger a smile.
Those eyes continued staring at her. She’d seen dozens of men just like him. Miners willing to spend everything they owned to strike the big one, and when they ran out of options, they arrived on the Lassiters’ doorstep.
As she got closer, she noticed a small child huddled next to him. So he was one of those. Bad enough to waste your life on a fool’s errand, but to take a child with you...
“Of course, if you’ll come around back, I’m sure I can find something for your little...girl.” At least she hoped that’s what the child was. Underneath all that filth, it was hard to tell. Whatever kindness Annabelle had left in her remained reserved for the children. Innocent victims of their parents’ selfish dreams for riches that most who came to Leadville never found. Or when they did, they squandered their money in the many saloons in town. The Colorado mountains were tough on anybody, but especially on the little ones.
“I need to see the preacher.” The man’s voice came out raspy, like he’d spent too many days underground working the mines.
Annabelle tried not to sigh. Her father held more grubstakes and pieces of paper promising repayment when the mine finally paid out than she could count. If they had a penny for every paper they held, they’d be richer than these miners ever thought they could be. But, if she turned this one away, and her father got wind of it, he’d be upset.
“Come around back, then.” Maddie would have her hide if she brought them through the front parlor. The last thing she needed was to be at the other end of Maddie’s tongue for more bootprints on the carpets.
The man stood, and the little girl buried her head further into his side. At this angle, Annabelle could see sloppy braids cascading down the girl’s back. Poor child.
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Annabelle knelt in front of her. “My name’s Annabelle, and my father is the preacher. We’ll help with whatever you need.”
Round eyes with dark centers blinked at her. The little girl let loose of her hold on the man’s filthy pants enough for them to walk down the steps and around the path to the backyard. Knowing her father, he was puttering in the garden, hoping to coax their spindly plants into doing something they were never designed to do at this elevation and these temperatures.
But he had faith that if Jesus could feed the masses with His loaves and His fish, then their tiny plants could keep their community fed. Annabelle shook her head. Too bad that faith hadn’t yet panned out.
“Father?” Annabelle spied him plucking at a half-dead tomato plant.
His straw hat bobbed as he looked up at her. “Who’ve you got there?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but stood and started toward them, brushing his hands on his pants.
“Joseph Stone, sir. I need a moment of your time.” The man glanced at Annabelle like whatever he had to say wasn’t meant for a female’s delicate ears. There wasn’t much Annabelle’s delicate ears hadn’t heard. Such was the life of a preacher’s daughter in a mining town. Her family had come here to make the miners’ lives better, and that meant dwelling in the deepest muck found in the human heart.
But just as working in the mines had a way of prematurely aging a man, helping the miners had a way of tearing at a person’s heart. She wanted to love and care for people like this man and his little girl, but her heart felt like it had been wrung out so completely that there was nothing left to give. Surely if she left this place, her heart would finally have room to heal.
“I’ll go put on some tea.” She glanced at the man. “Or would you prefer coffee?”
He stared at her. “Nothing, thank you.”
No, he probably just wanted Father’s money. Some might say it was wrong of her to judge so quickly, but enough miners had come to their home that she no longer had to guess what they wanted.
Annabelle smiled at the girl, pulling on her heart’s last reserves. “Want to come help me in the kitchen? I baked a whole mess of cookies earlier, and if you don’t help me eat them, my father and I are going to have to do it ourselves. You don’t want us to get bellyaches, do you?”
The little girl smiled, which would have been a pretty sight if those baby teeth of hers weren’t almost all rotten. How could a man be so selfish in his pursuit of riches that he’d let this sweet thing have such a rough life? Not her business. As sweet as this little girl was, Annabelle couldn’t let her heart get too involved.
“Can I?” She looked up at her father with such hopeful eyes.
“Annabelle will take good care of her. She has a way with youngsters,” her father said quietly. He, too, had a heart for the children.
The man, Joseph, nodded. Annabelle held out her hand. “Come along now. We’ll get you washed up at the pump, then go inside for some treats.”
The little girl looked at Annabelle’s hand, then took it. “Nugget.”
“I beg your pardon?” Annabelle looked at her.
“My name is Nugget,” the girl said softly.
Annabelle suppressed a sigh. Her father was one of those. So enraptured with the idea of getting rich, he even named his child after the evil silver.
“That’s a nice name.” It wasn’t the girl’s fault. From the way her face lit up at Annabelle’s compliment, she’d probably gotten more than her share of teasing for such a ridiculous name.
Once she helped Nugget wash up, they went into the house.
The little girl looked around, then ran her hands along the lace tablecloth adorning their kitchen table. “This is pretty, like at Miss Betty’s place.”
What had they gotten themselves into? Miss Betty was one of the town’s notorious madams. Her father had helped plenty of women escape that profession. Still, Annabelle had never been inside one of those places,