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by Robert Nielsen � 2003Chapter Three
A High Arc Shot
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by Robert Nielsen � 2003
Tuesday, October 14, 1896
The viewing had taken place at 8 a.m. on Main street in Mancos, Colorado. Bennet's Funeral Parlor was located on the east side of the street. And, most of those who were waiting for the funeral had gathered out in the street, trying to catch a little warmth from the sun.
Big, fluffy snow flakes had fallen all morning and muffled every sound as people made their way into the funeral parlor, an addition built on to the Bennet's home, a well needed contribution to the community.
There was a considerable amount of people who filed through the parlor. A few of the miners were waiting, long before the doors were opened, even some from as far as Durango who had known Ben from the time he had driven a mining supplies delivery wagon.
There were a few farmers from the Dove Creek area, ranchers and fruit growers from around Cortez and Dolores, and almost everyone from the town of Mancos had to stop by to pay their respects to Ben Evans, whether they would attended the funeral, or not.
A Solemn Gathering
The funeral had begun at 10 o'clock a.m., in the Methodist church.
During the service, it had stopped snowing and the clouds had begun to clear. Most of those who had attended started their quiet pilgrimage up to Cedar Grove cemetery, just west of the town.
Gemma and Jimmy rode with the Forrests, who had a sleigh made out of an old conestoga covered wagon (if you can imagine that) just behind bishop Johnson's family carriage. Mrs. Evans rode with the Johnsons and four of their children, preceded only by the hearse which was also fitted with sleigh runners.
Joan carried Jenny close to her, trying to quiet the child who was cold and hungry, since she was past due to be fed. After coming to a stop, Mrs. Johnson hurried all of her children out of the carriage, having to carefully explain to each one that Mrs. Evans would have to feed her baby.
Sunday night at the Johnson's home, the Methodist minister, the Reverend Jason Sarney had insisted that he should conduct the funeral service since Ben had been a member of the Methodist church, even though Ben had never attended church there.
"I have to attend a bible study class in Cortez at four o'clock on Tuesday. I simply don't want to have to rush to get out there," the reverend softly said. "Besides, aren't you going to be one of the speakers?"
Carl Johnson looked at the reverend soulfully, "Why brother Sarney, I was beginning to think that I'd have to shoulder the burden by myself. I welcome any help you could give. I'm going over to the Evans tomorrow morning to approve your suggestion, if that's alright. Thank you very much for coming by." The bishop opened his front door and walked outside before the reverend could say a word. He walked quickly around his house and the next thing the Reverend knew, the Bishop was riding his horse down the drive and out onto the street, saying, "Bye, now."
The reverend stepped out of the door, down off the porch, and walked out into the street. "Why does he have to turn everything I say, around?" he said to himself glumly.
Gemma jumped out of the sleigh and ran over to the Johnson's carriage to see what it was her mother was doing. She climbed up onto the step rung, opened the door slightly; and, pulling down the blind a bit, asked, "Is there enough light in there?"
"Now there is, dear. Thank you." Joan re-arranged herself. She buttoned-up and straightened herself up. Thoughtfully, she looked down at Jenny, grinned, and spoke to her in tones as will a mother to her infant, "That's all there is, you pretty little cuddle bug. But I promise we'll do better after all this is through. Right? Oh, yes we will. Yes we will."
She looked out of the back window to see if all whom were coming had arrived. And, she was little more than surprised to see that there were about fifty more people, still walking up through the snow. She turned around and could see through the side window there were four young boys with large shovels clearing away the snow so the extra people didn't have to stand, knee deep in the drifts.
Gemma was trying to keep Jimmy by the hand close enough to the carriage so that when their mother came out, they could all walk up together.
"I want to go play. I'm cold and I want to go play" he whined, yanking himself free.
"Jimmy, Gemma. Wouldn't you two like to sit up here with me? We have a little bit to wait and I'll wager it's quite cold out there. Come on, sit up here with your mum." She could see Gemma was about to cry and she didn't want that, least of all now.
Jimmy had been unusually restless at the funeral and Gemma had done so well keeping him in line. Even through her own tears, Joan had noticed Gemma's vigilance in keeping her free to release her grief and pain at their loss. As though Gemma knew that her mother needed to get it out of her system in order to get on with life.
However, Gemma really wasn't doing all that well. Her mother hadn't noticed but Gemma had not had the chance, nor had she allowed herself, to feel the full weight of what had just happened in her life. She simply didn't much want to think about it. She knew her father had died, but she hadn't honestly considered the fact she never would see him, again. As a matter of fact, she continued to look upon things that were his as though he may still need to use them. Or, she would imagine that he was there with her and talk to him in her mind. And, she had dreams about him almost every time she slept.
Since the main body of people had begun to group more closely to the burial plot, Joan felt that her family should be at the grave side to await the dedication. She bundled up Jenny with an extra blanket she'd brought and held her in her left arm. She did her best to arrange her hair, put her other arm around her son, and put out her hand for Gemma to take. She gently fondled the girls small hand and said, "If your father could only see how brave the two of you have been." Jimmy frowned at this.
Gemma looked thoughtfully up at her mother. "He would certainly like how pretty you look, mommy" she said and nudged Jimmy with her shoulder. He just put his head down and asked, "Must we go out, again? I'm still cold."
"I'm afraid so, dear. You'll be alright, I'm sure." Joan looked out the window and down the hill, estimating their place in the crowd. "Button that coat, Jimmy. It would be much warmer, that way. Gemma, please unlatch the door, now. Let's all go and find bishop Johnson. He's waiting for us down there. Come on."
Joan tried to sound as if it were just another little chore the children had to accomplish; but, actually, she dreaded having to witness her husband being lowered into the ground. She concentrated on the children and tried to steel herself. She grasped her lower lip with her teeth and struggled Jenny and herself out and stood onto the trampled snow. Her black taffeta dress flowed down to her ankles from beneath her knee length grey wool coat.
Gemma and her brother walked single file behind their mother. At the grave side, Jimmy pulled free from his sister's hand again.
To Spite the Chill
Gemma didn't have a black dress, so she wore her dark purple heavy cotton winter dress which was only mid-calf length. But, her seal skin boots, that her father had traded services for back on the Island, were too large for her and she had them laced up to her thighs. Even with four pairs of wool stockings, two of which were her mothers, her feet would still flop in them when she walked. Over all of this, she wore her long grey wool coat that almost matched her mother's winter coat.
Gemma liked her mother's looks and style. She would always do her best to try to talk her parents into buying whatever she could find that even resembled any of her mother's clothes. She rarely would succeed at this as Joan was against it.
Joan would allow Gemma to try on the item and they would discuss their differences in hair and eye color, ages, shapes, and skin tones. And normally, Gemma would agree with her mother's lines of thinking. "We, all of us, must try to find our own styles of dressing and wearing our hair, even of thinking and behaving ourselves. It's part of becoming our own person" Joan would say, and thoughtfully raise an eyebrow. But, regardless of any of Joan's reasoning, Gemma still wanted so much to look like her mother.
Jimmy had risen at six o'clock. He had put on his brown Sunday suit, did up his knickers, put on his navy blue winter coat, and sat himself up in his father's big chair.
By the time Gemma and their mother had awaken, he had fallen back to sleep. Gemma silently went over to him. She cautiously opened his un-buttoned top coat and exclaimed, "Mommy, look. He's buttoned up his suit right."
Unable to believe it, Joan came over to him, knelt down on the floor, and looked closely at him in the dim light. "He's even tucked in his shirt" she said, with noticeable awe.
"I think so." Gemma was astounded. She gasped and said, "He's got his knickers up. Really, mommy. I wish there were a photographer."
"Must have been a magic fairy." Joan raised her eyes, tilted her head, and looked at Gemma at an angle.
"Oh, mommy. Let's get dressed." Gemma whispered, trying not to laugh. But, they both laughed. And, Jimmy didn't stir a bit.
Joan and her daughter quietly moved into the parents' bedroom and dressed themselves. "The Johnsons should be coming by soon" Joan said as she handed Gemma two pairs of woolen stockings. "The bishop dropped in last night after you two were asleep and has invited our family for breakfast. We'll be over at their house until the funeral. It should give us a chance to get acquainted. Does that sound alright to you, Gemma? There wasn't much chance to fill you in. I'm sorry."
"It sounds very good to me, mother. I do like the Johnsons" Gemma said and pulled up hard on the large stocking.
Peaceful Respite
Soon after having to stop several times to help Jimmy to get up out of the snow, they reached the main body of people. Working their way through the crowd took a great deal of doing. There were quite a few people who had not had the chance to offer their condolences at the funeral. And, many of those who were there at the grave side had not even attended the funeral. It seems as though this sort of event usually proved to be a kind of delicious distraction in an area such as southwestern Colorado. Oftentimes, people would come for miles and miles just to see a burial evidently, even in the dead of winter.
Joan and the children stepped through the crowd and up next to the bishop. He stood waving his arms, trying to get the attention of two boys who had been playing behind the mound of dirt, taken from the grave. His forearm suddenly grazed Mrs. Evans' head. "Oh. Pardon me, ma'am. I didn't see you. There are two boys..."
"I saw them" she interrupted. "I don't think there's any harm, unless they fall down in there." Joan smiled and looked down at her children. "These two are fairly well behaved."
"Yes, they certainly are, aren't they?" Bishop Johnson grinned and crouched down. "Hello, Gemma."
Eagerly, she responded to his outstretched hand and shook it vigorously. "And, how is Jimmy doing?" The bishop cocked his head only to see Jimmy turn even more to avoid the man's comfortable smile.
Having noted all was in order, bishop Johnson cleared his throat to get the attention of those near him. He politely glanced at over to Mrs. Evans, who gave him a nod and, raising his voice above the chatter, said, "Ladies and Gentlemen." He paused and waited for their reverence. "I would like to get started, now. If you will please gather around." The bishop frowned, realizing his duty, then, quickly taking courage, he began with a prayer.
He blessed the Evans family that they would not want; Mrs. Evans, that she would be able to provide for her family and still be a successful and good mother; the children, that they would do whatever they could to help their mother, and grow up to be good, strong, well educated people. He closed the prayer by asking that all who attended might keep the Evans' in their hearts and thoughts to help whenever the need might arise, and that they would all return home safely. And, in the Saviors name, he said, "Amen."
He spoke about the resurrection and how we would be reunited at the last day, after which, he spoke of how much he thought of Ben Evans and how much he would miss his friendship, and he stated how sure he was that Ben would be brought forth in the first resurrection.
Then the bishop bowed his head and, by his authority, dedicated the plot to be a resting place for Benjamin Thomas Evans' remains to await the time that the Lord should sound forth his trump to awaken those who slept and asked that it would be protected for that period. Then, he appropriately closed the dedicatory prayer.
Joan had lowered her head and was crying. The bishop moved toward her to try to comfort her. But, she raised her head, stood up straight, and smiled at him. "Thank you so much, bishop."
The murmur of the crowd, again, began to rise. And, as four young men lowered the coffin into the grave, Gemma's mother gave the baby to the bishop's wife to hold while she observed the internment.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Joan reached down and picked up some of the dirt that was scattered next to the grave. She stepped forward, looked down, and as the container was set on the bottom she released the handful of earth and snow.
Gemma looked up at her mother with utter amazement. Then, as Jimmy copied his mother's ritual gesture, Gemma's eyes rolled back, her knees buckled, and she fainted. The crunching of the snow as her bottom made contact alerted her mother to what had happened.
Joan had seen Gemma fade out of the corner of her sight and the sound of her having fallen caused Joan to remember that neither of her children had ever attended a funeral.
She bent down and helped Gemma to her feet. She kindly refused any help, saying, "No. No, thank you. She'll be alright. She's just only fainted. See, she'll be just fine, now." Joan sat down in one of the chairs and pulled Gemma up onto her lap. She held her daughter, stroking her hair and quietly told her about those things which she had neglected to explain.
After finding that there was nothing with which to be concerned, the crowd all closed their mouths and started to make their way back up the hill toward the town. A few, mostly those who knew Ben personally, stayed, momentarily, to ask about Gemma's condition or to introduce themselves to Joan and ask if there was anything they could do for her family.
Mrs. Johnson asked Joan if she could hold her 'sweet little darling' Jenny, until they took them home. Joan, who was holding Gemma on her lap, said, "That will be just fine, Dolly. After all, I can hold only one 'sweet little darling' at a time."
Earlier that day, the bishop introduced Mrs. Johnson to Joan as Marjorie, "but Dolly is what everyone calls her" Carl had said with a grin. And, it really did fit her.
Joan thought she was very pretty and candidly had told Gemma, "Oh, she looks like a china doll that you put up onto a shelf for everyone to see." Dolly had overheard this and blushed until some of her children fell on the floor with laughter.
Gemma kissed her mother's cheek and went to find Jimmy.
He had been throwing snowballs at some older boys who were about to really let him have it; but, when the bishop made a gesture with his hand, shook his head, and pointed to Gemma as she trudged out through the snow to get him, the boys vengeance turned again into play.
One of them, Jeremiah Smith, who was fourteen years old, obstinately threw a high arc with a very large snowball. And Gemma, whose eyes were single to fetching her little brother, didn't even notice that it had been thrown, until it came in right down on top of her head. Popfth!
"Hope I didn't knock you out, again" the perpetrator shouted as they all ran away, slipping and falling on the snow packed road that led back to town.
This didn't bother Gemma at all. As a matter of fact, it was about the nicest thing that Jeremiah ever had said to her. He wasn't one of the boys who found her to be good looking, she had thought. Three of the other boys, Jeremiah's brother, Ronny Smith, Geoffrey Collins, and Will Campbell, who wished among themselves that Gemma attended their church, still joined in with the rest of the children when it came to teasing her about her accent.
There weren't any girls who liked Gemma, at all. Her hair was too perfect, most of her clothes had been bought in large stores and were an awful lot more stylish than anything they had. Most of them, especially the older girls, thought she was 'terribly vain', as they would put it.
However, this wasn't at all the case. Gemma had always felt somewhat plain and unattractive. She thought that if she could just keep up her appearance, people would be more apt to like her.
Instead, it seemed to have the opposite effect.
The wind had picked up a bit by the time she reached her little brother. "If you're quite finished laughing at me" she giggled. "If you are finished, I'm sure that mommy would like to leave now." She kept brushing snow from off the top of her head on to his face, and he just kept laughing, lying on his back in the deep snow. It was good to hear him laugh. She had tried, before, to cheer him up, but that, unsuccessfully.
Ultimately, she let out an audible sigh, and said, "Well, I guess we'll just have to leave without you." She started walking through the uncleared snow toward the carriage where her mother and the Johnsons were headed. "Mmm, I suppose it's only three miles home." She quickened her pace."That's quite a long stroll, just for pleasure. I would say."
Just about that time she could hear Jimmy, struggling in the snow. "Gemma. Gemma, will you p'ease wait" he pleaded.
She stopped and folded her arms, playfully, as if she were being impatient. She turned around to see his progress, and he was face down in the deep snow. He forced himself up onto his knees. Panting and shivering, he tried to talk, "Uhh. Oh, G-G-Gemma."
Quickly, she unbuttoned her coat, whipped his hands with her dress, and told him, "It's alright, Jimmy. Just put your arms around me, under my coat."
She opened her coat and bent over. He put his arms inside and held her tight. Gemma locked her arms beneath his waist and picked him up.
"Uhhh." She strained to keep him up and out of the snow. "You're getting very heavy, Jimmy. I remember when, hhu, I used to carry you all over the house in Nan...tucket."
"I'm sorry, Gemma. I tried to hurry, but I just fell a lot" he said apologetically.
"Oh, there's mommy." Gemma set him down. But, she held on to him and she began to cry.
Sympathetically, and in soft, gentle tones, their mother told them that they should all get into the carriage where they could get warm. She took Gemma by the hand, picked Jimmy up, and they walked over and got into the Johnson's carriage.
Carl and Dolly smiled understandingly at the Evans family.
The Johnson's youngest, Lisa tried to climb up onto her mother's lap. Dolly still held Jenny in her arms, and told Lisa that she would have to wait until they took the Evans' to their home.
The rest of the Johnson's children had walked home, save Thomas, who drove their carriage.
He backed up the two horses and said, "H'yup" and off the rode, north, out of the cemetery, and west, on the main road to the Evans' cabin.
"> Back at home, Gemma lit a fire.
She and Jimmy went early to bed, and their mother watched the flames as she rocked their sister, Jenny, fast asleep.
Joan felt sure there was another storm blowing in, so she set the baby down in the crib next to her bed. She put on her coat, went out the back door, and made her way to the wood box up against the east side of the work shed.
Just then, she noticed that the cover of the wood box was propped up by an overflowing amount of quartered, and neatly stacked wood for the fireplace. As she tearfully recounted the bishop's commenting that he wouldn't have them chopping any more wood, she loaded as many pieces in her arms as she could carry.
It took her three arm loads of firewood before Joan could fasten down the lid on the wood box. After she had secured the last of the two short lengths of rope to its appropriate bent nail, she could hardly feel her fingers.
With several pieces of wood tucked under her arms, she quietly came across the room and over to the fireplace. She bent her knees and let go of the wood which clunked, again, and again, onto the floor. "Ah... Should these hands of mine ever thaw out, I'd like to take up the harpsichord, I think" she said to herself as she rubbed her palms together, held them out to the flames, and then scrubbed her fingers as if to wash her hands in the warmth of the ebbing flames.
Placing a few larger pieces of wood onto the hot coals, she watched as they caught fire and filled the large cavity with heat and bright yellow flames.
The beautiful smell of the pinion pine wafted into the room. "There were a few pieces of cedar in that last bundle I brought" Joan thought to herself.
She found them, put several pieces of the cedar into the back of the fireplace, and went into bed; thinking, that the cedar would light before too long, heating the entire house, while keeping the flue just a bit cleaner than would only the pinion.
