A Woman Named Damaris Read Free

it should be. And the watch—though you wouldn’t wear it—can be displayed. I saw one once—in a little glass case—draped over blue velvet. It looked so beautiful.”
    The words puzzled Damaris, but she reached out her trembling hands to accept the two priceless gifts. If her mama had to hide them from her pa, how would they be safe with her? He never showed any reservation about entering her room to look for something he could exchange for money to purchase another bottle.
    “But how—how can I—?” Damaris stammered, not knowing quite how to express her thoughts.
    Her mama seemed to read her—as always. She pressed the gifts into the palms of her daughter’s quivering hands and clasped them tightly in her own. Then she looked deep into the dark brown eyes.
    “You are getting older, Damaris. Almost fifteen. And you are tall for your age. Why—you could ’most pass for seventeen. At that age a lot of girls are—are on their own. Do you understand?”
    Damaris wasn’t sure she did, but she nodded her head.
    “As to the gifts—keepin’ them safe …” Mrs. Withers hesitated, still looking at Damaris. “You—you’ll think of something,” she finished in a whisper.
    Damaris saw pain in her mother’s pleading eyes. A tear spilled from one and ran down the pale cheek. Damaris had seldom seen her mama weep—even when her father yelled at her and hit her in a drunken rage.
    Damaris reached down and tucked the little bundle in the pocket of her apron. She still wasn’t sure what her mama expected of her, but she would do her best. Perhaps she could hide the treasures in one of the farthest corners of the attic. Her pa never seemed to notice the small trapdoor in the ceiling above her dresser. Perhaps the cherished items would be safe there.
    She looked at her mama and nodded again. The woman was standing, brushing back strands of wayward hair, blinking tears from her eyes.
    “We must get to bed,” her mama said suddenly. “Must get some rest before he wakes. He might well be sick come mornin’.”
    Damaris knew her mother was right. Her pa was often sick when he woke up from his drinking. It could mean bedding to wash, floors to scrub, nursing to be done. Her mama would do the comforting and easing of the misery. Damaris would be assigned the scrubbing—of clothes, blankets and wooden boards.
    She sighed as she moved to wash the cups. She and her mama would enjoy only a brief respite. They should make the most of it.
    With one hand in her apron pocket holding fast the two treasures, Damaris climbed the creaking steps and made her way to her simple bed. Perhaps she could get a few hours of sound sleep before her pa wakened.

Chapter Two
    A Daring Idea
    Climbing up through the attic hole in the darkness would be too risky. Damaris would have to wait for the light of day before hiding the treasures Mama had given her. She was sure she would be up and about long before her pa cried out for a cold cloth for his forehead and a slop pail for his upset stomach.
    Long into the night Damaris lay thinking, fingering beneath her pillow the tiny cloth bundle with the treasures that had once belonged to her grandparents. Damaris sighed and turned over. If only there was no money. If only her pa didn’t make the trips into town to spend his time at the saloon tables. If only her mama didn’t look so old and tired all of the time. If only—
    Damaris checked herself. There was no use going on. Things were as they were. Nothing would change. Nothing. Damaris reached a hand up to feel the scar above her temple. At least her pa had thrown nothing at her—this time. He had not slapped her nor twisted her arm. They had gotten off easy this time—both her and her mama. Damaris was thankful for that. But what about next time? And the time after that? She lived in fear and dread of each new day, and she was sure her mama did likewise.
    What if her pa awoke and found out that the two womenfolk had been drinking his