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© 1996 by Robert NielsenMancos, Colorado
Friday, October 9, 1896
The school bell rang and the sun glistened off of the new snow as children poured out of the Union Hall schoolhouse.
Snowballs were flying through the air and it seemed like more than just the usual chatter, laughter, and rolling about in the new snow as the youngsters procrastinated returning home to their chores and homework required by their parents.
Playful screams from young girls who were preyed upon by the boys with their handfuls of snow could easily be heard nearly four blocks away by two workmen at the saw mill.
The workmen smiled at each another, knowing that it would soon be time to go home and get something to eat.
After all, it was Friday. And, the children had been told that due to the abundant snowfall school would not be held next Monday. Since the heavy winter weather had begun somewhat earlier than was normal for southwestern Colorado, most of them thought they may not have to return to school until the snow, upon which they were so noisily playing, was well into a thaw.
Those referred to by their teacher as young men and women had their classroom on the second floor. They had followed the younger children out the front door.
One young lady, Gemma Evans had slowly followed the other teenagers as they deftly made their way down the stairs and out into the crowd.
Gemma was an attractive young girl, thirteen years of age, with long brown hair to her waist, and deep aquamarine eyes. Her light skin tone complimented her fine delicate features and her 63 inch frame made her appear to be thinner than most of the girls her age. And, she was very beautiful for a Welsh girl of that day and age.
Her eyes were not at all close together and not really very rounded in appearance, which made her look different than most of the girls in that area. And, her nose was really quite narrow. These factors which were of startling beauty made her stand out in a rural location like Mancos, Colorado.
This had made it difficult for her to make friends when first they had arrived. She still had a hard time with most of the girls in her class.
Gemma had lagged behind the rest trying to find Rick Carlton, as it was the custom for her to ride to her home with him and his little brother, Danny. She always was just a bit afraid she might miss them before they rode off without her in their father's buckboard wagon. Although she had never yet missed a ride, she could just see herself, trudging through the snow for three miles, cussing herself for not having found him before they'd gone.
Unfortunately, Rick had sensed her fears, early on, and would tease her with little compromise.
Actually they liked each other, but each would rather eat mud than admit it.
"Hey Gemma.", Rick said. He had been outside all along. He had sneaked up behind her and thought it clever to shake snow from his dark brown hair down onto her head to start the conversation.
She turned around and put out her hand, as if to test for precipitation . "And, I thought that the snow had ceased, before we'd had our lunch.", she smiled wryly up at him.
Intent on interrupting her satisfaction, he said, "I just saw your daddy sitting in his buckboard, out on Grand Avenue. Don't know how long he's been out there waiting."
"Thanks Rick. See you next year." Gemma hurried on around him and out through the swarm.
Rick put his hands to his hips and, doing his best to imitate her Welsh accent, he said, "Maybe. If you are fortunate."
Seeing that he no longer had her attention, he finished wagging his head and looked out through the crowd for Danny.
Gemma's father could see her coming and stepped out of the wagon to help her up.
He was a good sized fellow, about six feet tall, but didn't look it as he was so big boned and his features were large and very rounded. His hair was short, a little longer in the back, and it was very dark brown. Actually, you might even call it black.
When he smiled, you could mistake it for an angry look, unless you had seen him with a really cross face, then you knew that it was time to go. But, those who came to know him knew that there weren't too many people in the world who could be more kind and thoughtful than he.
And, so well his daughter knew his smile.
"That's my girl, the scholar." He crouched himself down to pick her up.
Almost out of breath, Gemma threw her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him on the cheek, but as he swooped her up into the wagon, she kissed him in his ear.
"My.... Was that the kiss of a muse, or the song of a siren?" her father asked as he rubbed his right ear and walked toward the front of the horses.
He gently stroked both of them and spoke softly. And he took them by their bridles, coaxing them back. They disliked having to push the wagon back into deeper snow. He thanked both of them for being careful with Gemma in the buckboard. Yet, indeed they knew she was there.
Late that summer, he had done a marvelous job, constructing and furnishing the livery and feed store with three large, new windows, where there'd been none. And, completely repairing and replacing all of the existing windows in the doors and on the building.
They were so pleased with his work, both of the owners had led the pair of beautiful Appaloosa yearlings out to him as he waited for the solitary buckskin, for which he had asked.
If you knew him, you would know it is needless to say that he wouldn't go until they promised to let him repair any damage that might occur to their windows, within the next year.
Gemma was proud that her father always seemed to bring out the best in people.
He climbed up onto the seat, shook the reigns, and off they rode, crunching through the deep sparkling snow.
"It was the kiss of a muse" she slimly smiled up at him.
"Well, then let's hear the song of a siren." he jested.
Gemma half laughed and said, "No, you might run this ship onto the rocks."
He laughed with her and was delighted she would remember the idle mythology discussions they'd had aboard ship on the long voyage across the Atlantic from Liverpool to Nantucket, more than two and a half years, before.
After they had ridden a little ways out of town, she began to hum the melody of a song that they would often hear her mother sing while doing housework. Her father joined in with the lyrics and they sang until they pulled up to their home, three miles to the west of Mancos.
Ben Evans was a glazier by trade, and also a fine glass blower.
He had brought with them all the implements and equipment to do everything from making glass for window panes, to fabricating sills and frames. Also, for blowing fine wine glasses, stem ware, and beautifully colored vases. He had even begun to construct a pottery kiln, so that he and his wife could begin to fire the earthenware which they had been making, earlier that fall.
The year before, he hadn't had much success on Nantucket Island.
Those who were well off enough to be able to afford to buy his glass wares usually would purchase them from the merchant ships that often came or shop for themselves in New York City, as they oftentimes would make the trip.
Ben had been able to get by as there was some construction for which he was able to get special order work and sub-contract the window installation on new homes on Nantucket, and Martha's Vineyard, Islands; but, after a wealthy glass shop owner moved into the city of Nantucket, Ben had decided there were not enough people living in the area for him to compete with a fully stocked window store.
Early in the 1850's, his father had briefly visited Massachusetts, New York, and Virginia, purchasing tobacco for the British government. And when retired, he had spoken fondly of Nantucket Island, urging Ben to leave Wales, telling him of the great opportunities that could be found in the new world.
Gemma's mother used to aggravate Ben when she would say that, "you should have let your father come and live his dreams, for himself".
Ben would remind Joan how unhappy she'd been living in Port Talbot at his father's old business residence, by saying, "Perhaps, I 'should' work for father and take over his shipping company. We could take a weeks holiday once a year on the Isle of Wight. That is, if mother would let you out of the house for anything but to visit the grocer and the butcher shops. Gemma could teach Jimmy to read and..."
"Gemma would never tolerate serving Jimmy tea.", Joan would say, acknowledging how silly she'd been, as what she was suggesting was to pack it in and go back to England.
Early in March of 1895, they had shipped their belongings and traveled to Denver by train.
As money had become a problem, their stay in the mile high city had been reduced to three days rather than the week that they had planned. Ben's savings had begun to dwindle after their having had embarked on an unintended second move.
Even though Joan had some very close friends in Cherry Creek, with whom they had been able to stay, Ben had become increasingly worried about succeeding in his business, down in the southwestern corner of Colorado.
The MacLerys were Joan's friends from whom Ben had purchased 40 acres, three miles west of Mancos, and had been such supportive and kind hosts that Ben felt guilty for only having to pay two dollars per acre for land in such a beautiful area.
"It's no' like the mountains west of us here. Quite different, really. And, it's a wee bit run-down, by now, I'm afraid." Ryan MacLery smiled and then, scratching his greying beard and thickening his Scottish accent for effect, he said, "It's no' like yer holdin' me up. We've no use for that piece of land since we sold the old house 'nd the orchards. What's it been, Nancy, three years?"
His wife just lowered her eyes and then looked off.
Nancy MacLery had not wanted to leave Mancos in the first place and was not at all pleased about letting go of the slim connection they still had with that area. She had not been so greatly disaffected, as was her husband, with so many of the people there. Yet, she smiled in her mind toward Joan, her old school chum, and thought, 'Oh well. Perhaps Ryan will let me go to visit. I can't tell her now, but she'll know soon enough.'
"Mmm, almost.", Nancy finally said. And, then she spoke warmly to her guests and asked, "Will you have more tea?"
Ryan looked coolly over to his wife as though he knew what she'd been thinking. Ben asked for more tea and didn't seem to notice at all.
Joan had begun to round up the children and Nancy went into the kitchen, briefly.
"Will the grass be good for fodder?" asked Ben, and thanked Nancy for the tea. "I've been thinking of keeping some animals, cattle, maybe. Or..."
"Aye. But it's no' at all like Wales." Ryan tried to sound Welsh.
So Ben retorted, "Aye, but there 're less stones."
This brought the conversation around to their fondest memories of the British Isles, omitting all toil and strife, exaggerating every little joy adults remember, and calling a number of times up to their children to quit giggling and go to sleep.
At age ten, the MacLery's only child, Joey was quite smitten by the Evans' eldest. And, Gemma had to remind herself how she had felt to be that age. But, she had teased poor Joey a great deal, in spite of it.
Mancos, Colorado
Sunday, October 11, 1896
People who had driven past the Evans' place were curious as to why they had seen doctor Bingham's surrey parked up so close to the Evans' front porch.
Then, John Cooper burst open the door to the Methodist church building, right in the middle of the sermon, and told the congregation that the doctor had told him that Ben Evans was dead.
Gemma had cried all the night long and well into the morning.
Her father had passed away early the afternoon, before. And, it had taken Gemma several hours before she had felt anything but numbness.
She had a little brother named Jimmy who would turn four next thursday. He seemed to have some idea what had just taken place. Even when the doctor had told him that his father had gone to sleep, he began to take on the responsibility, after a fashion, as the man of the house. He must have asked if he should go to bring in some more wood, three or four times, since his mother had picked herself up off front room floor.
The children's mother, Joan had remained there, inconsolably weeping for almost an hour, before she'd realized that she would have to help her family to carry on. She had gotten up, sat herself in her husband's chair, and cried every time she had thought of him.
Gemma had gone to the window and, with the apron that her mother had flung at the doctor, began to wipe away the frost. She could hear her mother crying and would have gone to comfort her, but she just couldn't seem to clear the window enough to see.
Her father had been hurriedly chipping away wood, to kindle the fire and start the evening meal, when he'd sunk the broad axe deep into his inner thigh.
Gemma began to see the trail of blood left, as he had made his way to the cabin and the great red stain in the snow, where her mother had tried to tourniquet his thigh with two dish towels she had knotted together as she waded out to him. She had cried, "Ben, Ben. Please stop the bleeding. Help me! Help me stop it!"
Unfortunately, she could not tie it up high enough and the little stick she had grabbed on the way out kept breaking when given a good tension. She also hadn't realized that the axe had been lodged clear up into his groin by the terrible glance off of the wet stump.
He had been chopping on the far side of the stump, as he should. But, he had knelt down on the deep snow, straddling it.
The children's mother, Joan had light brown hair, penetrating, green eyes, and a strikingly beautiful face.
She was tall for a woman, about an inch shy of six foot. She had long ago fallen in love with Ben, who wasn't at all intimidated by her stature.
Most men were stunned with her looks when they first had met her, but, when she stood, a lot of them would almost fall over and did not have much to say after that. Ben had always been quite amused by this.
On the other hand, his wife was usually quite mortified. Yet, she would hide it well and pertinaciously conciliate their favor and friendship, until they had forgotten ever having been taken back.
Indeed, she was an avid proponent of the practice of magnanimity, never speaking ill of anyone, no matter what their faults. She would often tell her children, "We have our own shortcomings with which to deal. Let's allow others to deal with theirs, for themselves.", or simply, "Please, let's not be unkind".
They had moved to Colorado from Nantucket Island early the previous spring and, with the help of a few of their new neighbors, had built a three room split log cabin with a fireplace for heating and cooking.
Throughout the Summer, Ben had constructed and finished a work shop and an out-house. He had also managed to attached a good sized wood bin to the work shop that he and Robert Carlton had built, early that summer.
Now he was gone.
And, only two weeks before, his wife had given birth to a girl they had named Jennifer Marie.
And there they were, the four of them, with no one to provide.
Now, when you find the time, read Chapter_2 of A Home in Which to Die. |
| Learn how the family reacts to
the death of Ben Evans. And, how Joan is able to cope with the death of her husband and the love of her life.
|
Web site content © 2000 by Robert Clark Nielsen
