Prairie Rose (24 page)

But those years had been good ones, too. She had learned about her heavenly Father. She had gone to school and read the fairy tale book. She had made her way in a world where only the toughest survived.

Taking a deep breath, she slit open the envelope. “‘Dear Miss Mills,’” she read aloud. It was Mrs. Jameson’s handwriting. “‘Thank you for the iron skillet. By this generous gift, I see you are making something of yourself in the world. I trust that in your efforts to improve yourself you have not strayed from the straight and narrow path—’”

“What does she mean by that?” Sheena cut in. “Does she think you earned the money for the skillet in some low manner?”

“Mrs. Jameson is very strict. She wants the best for me.” Rosie read again. “‘I trust that in your efforts to improve yourself you have not strayed from the straight and narrow path that was paved for you at the Christian Home for Orphans and Foundlings. I must tell you that your presence is sorely missed.’” Rosie lifted her head. “They miss me, Sheena!”

“Of course they do. You’re a wonder, you are.”

Rosie began to read again. “‘Your presence is sorely missed. The main cook quit her position, and you are needed to fill in, along with Jenny and Pearl. I am counting on your return in the fall, as Mr. Hunter assured me. I do not like to think that we at the Home have given you all these years of care and sustenance only to have you walk away from us in a time of need.’”

“Of all the—!”

“‘If you manage to earn any money while you are away,’” Rosie read on, “‘I expect you to bring it when you come. We need a new washtub. Sincerely, Mrs. Jameson.’”

“Ooo, I should like to get my hands around her neck!” Sheena exclaimed, demonstrating just what she would do to the orphanage director. “She wants your money for a new washtub, does she? She expects you to race back to that dreadful place just because she gave you a bed and a little food all those years? Well, I’ve news for her. You deserve a life better than that, so you do. You’re a good girl, a hardworking girl, a fine Christian girl. You’re going to marry Rolf Rustemeyer and live in his soddy and have yourself a home and a family. And that’s that.” She clapped her hands over her knees. “You won’t give that letter another thought, will you, Rosie? Rosie?”

Rosie stared down at the sheet of white paper. “Sheena, Mrs. Jameson is right. They do need me at the Home. I did run off and leave them in a difficult position. From the moment we drove away from Kansas City in Seth’s wagon, I sensed I had been willful and selfish. I certainly didn’t pray about coming out to the prairie before I took the first step, and I’m not sure I’ve done a bit of real good for the Lord since I’ve been here.”

“Of course you have! You’re the best cook, the most caring—”

“And I don’t think I want to marry Rolf Rustemeyer after all.”

“Really, now? I can’t say I’m surprised, though I thought you had your mind made up on it. What about Seth then? You know I’ve wanted you to marry him all along.”

“Sheena, I care about Seth. Truly I do.”

“You love him.”

“Maybe I do. But he loves his wife.”

“She’s dead!”

“I know that, but it doesn’t make any difference to Seth. No woman can take his wife’s place. I think he’s afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid to let someone into his life in that way again. He was hurt so badly by what happened. Now all he can think about is keeping Chipper safe from Jack Cornwall and trying to get his crops in. Sheena, I have to accept the truth that Seth is never going to love me. He’s never going to marry me. And my heart … my heart doesn’t want to marry Rolf Rustemeyer.”

“Your heart? I thought you said the heart had nothing to do with marriage. Didn’t you tell me that all a woman needed to do was find a good, hardworking, honest man?”

Rosie shrugged. “I think … I think I might have been wrong. There may be more to it than that. I’ve come to believe there’s a certain feeling people sometimes have. It’s like in Mrs. Jameson’s fairy tale book when the story says, ‘The prince took Cinderella in his arms and began to dance with her. The rest of the evening, he had eyes only for the beautiful, mysterious woman.’ And in Beauty and the Beast: ‘though she knew he was outwardly a beast, she saw the good in his heart, and her own heart beat the faster for it.’ You know, Sheena, I always thought eyes gazing at each other and hearts beating too fast were just pretend. Make-believe stories for children. But now I’m not so sure.”

“Who taught you differently, Rosie?” Sheena took her hand. “Was it Seth?”

“It wasn’t Rolf, I can tell you that.” She let out a deep sigh. “It’s all beyond me. God knows I’d best be back at the Home, where I’m certain of what I’m supposed to be doing and I can’t get myself into any greater trouble than climbing trees.”

“Does God know that? How can you be so sure?”

“He’s been watching what a poor job I’m doing out here. Oh Sheena, I’m such a wreck.” Rosie bent over on the bench and buried her face in her hands. “I do love Seth,” she whispered. “I love him so much I can hardly stand it. I love Chipper, and I want to try to be a mother to him. I want to marry Seth and feel his strong arms holding me close. I want to know what it’s like to kiss … to kiss him. Oh, Sheena, this is just awful.”

“Fräulein!” Rolf’s booming voice brought Rosie upright in an instant. At the edge of the yard, the big blond German was climbing down from his mule. “Happy lunschtime to you!”

“Hello, Rolf.” She blotted her cheeks with the corner of her apron. “How are you today?”

“I
komme
eaten vit you!”

“The bread!” Rosie gasped. She hadn’t given a thought to the midday meal since Sheena came traipsing over the bridge. A glance out to the fields confirmed that Seth, Chipper, and all five O’Tooles were trudging toward the soddy. “The bread is probably burned to a cinder. All they’ll have for lunch is ashes. Oh, Sheena!”

“Go on then, Cinderella. I’ll take my wee
brablins
home with me whilst you feed your two Prince Charmings.” Sheena gave her friend a squeeze. “You must talk to God about this matter of your love for Seth. He’ll find you a way through it.”

“Thank you, Sheena,” Rosie said as she left the bench and made for the soddy door.

Rolf caught her hand just as she stepped inside. “Fräulein, I vill
mein
money haf. Dollars.”

“Rolf, my bread is burning. I don’t have time to figure out what you’re trying to say.” She resorted to Seth’s habit of shouting at the German. “The … bread … is … burning!”

“Dollars,” he repeated. “Britsch money of Hunter, O’Toole,
und
Rustemeyer. You gif me?
Ja
, you gif to me
mein
money?”

“You’ll have to wait, Rolf. I must get my bread.” Rosie pulled away from him and hurried into the soddy to find black smoke billowing from the oven door. Her bread was ruined. Ruined! There would be nothing for lunch but a few slices of cold salt pork. Everything was a mess. Rolf wanted his money. Sheena’s entrancing sister was coming to Kansas. Jack Cornwall was trying to steal Chipper. And Seth … oh, she had confessed out loud that she loved Seth. Now it was in the open, and she felt as confused and upset as though a hive of bees had taken up residence in her stomach.

“Rosie?”

She whirled around, the smoking lump of bread clamped in a hot pad. Seth stood in the doorway, a tall silhouette framed by golden noon sunlight. “Rosie, are you all right?”

“No! No, I’m not all right.” She thunked the loaf pan on the table and marched toward him through the smoky haze. “You want me to marry Rolf. Rolf wants his money. Sheena’s beautiful sister is coming. Cornwall is trying to take Chipper away. Mrs. Jameson needs a new washtub! And worst of all … I-I’ve burned my bread!”

At that, she burst past him and ran right out the front door. She ran by Sheena and Rolf and Chipper and all the gaping little O’Tooles. She ran all the way down to the creek, halfway to Rustemeyer’s homestead, and straight to the biggest, tallest tree she could find.

Then she yanked off her apron, kicked off her shoes, and began to climb. Straight up. Up to the very highest branches of the cottonwood tree. And there she sat—thinking, praying, even crying a little—until the sun sank below the prairie. She didn’t go down for lunch. Not even for supper. Seth had cooked meals before she came, she reasoned. He could do it again. She needed time to put her world back in order.

When everything seemed quiet at the homestead, she finally returned to the barn. She climbed the ladder into the loft to get ready for bed.

And Seth walked in to check on her. “Are you there?” he asked, holding up the lantern.

“Yes,” she said.

“Did you talk to God up in the tree?”

“Yes.” She could see him through the chinks in the floorboards, though she knew he couldn’t see her. It hardly mattered. Just the sight of him brought everything back in a rush. And she knew that all her hours in the cottonwood tree had been for nothing.

“Did you and God get everything worked out?” Seth asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk to me about anything?”

“No.”

He fell silent for several minutes, and she used the time to study him. It was all as true as she had feared. He was handsome and wonderful and kind. Her heart beat helter-skelter every time she looked into his blue eyes. Her thoughts, dreams, hopes were filled with him. She loved Seth. Loved him in the strongest possible way she could ever imagine. And she could do nothing about it. Nothing.

“Good night, then, Miss Mills,” he called up.

“Good night, Mr. Hunter.”

Rosie was acting mighty strange, Seth mused as he loaded a stack of blankets into his wagon on a bright Independence Day morning. She wouldn’t look at him. Would hardly talk to him. He had asked her if there was a problem. But she always got a look on her face like a big grizzly bear was after her. She sort of shrank inside herself and told him she just couldn’t talk about it.

After a while, Seth had decided it must be one of two things. Either she was upset that Rolf had taken his part of the bridge money, or she had gotten worried about going back to the orphanage.

He had spotted the letter lying on the ground that day after she burned the bread and ran off to climb the tree. He had read the letter, even though it wasn’t his business, so he knew that the Jameson woman wanted Rosie back. Or maybe she just wanted a new washtub.

On the other hand, Rosie’s consternation could have something to do with Sheena’s little sister coming out to the prairie to teach school. Maybe Rosie was worried about having to give up the loft. Seth knew she was pretty attached to her little room. She’d decorated it with flowers and bows and little things she found out on the prairie. He wasn’t about to make her give up her bedroom, but every time he tried to reassure her, she told him she had something to do. He was beginning to think lassoing a dust devil would be easier than talking to Rosie Cotton Mills.

“Are they going to have races at the picnic, Papa?” Chipper asked, tugging on his father’s pant leg. “Three-legged races and sack races?”

“I’m not sure, Son. We’ll find out when we get to the mill.”

“Can we bring Stubby with us? He wants to come. Please, Papa?”

Seth glanced down at the dog. Long-legged, lanky, and growing about an inch a day, the mutt certainly belied his name. His feet were the size of saucers, and his wagging tail had become a downright hazard. Seth had the feeling Stubby might end up the approximate height and weight of a small bear.

“Sure, we’ll take Stubby,” he replied, lifting the boy into the wagon. “Where’s Rosie?”

“In the barn. She’s fixing up her box lunch.”

“She already packed the lunch.” Seth glanced down at the large basket with its cheerful red and white checkered cloth. Rosie must be confused. Lately, she had been doing absentminded things like that a lot. Put salt in the rhubarb pie instead of sugar. Dropped a sack of beans all over the floor. Pulled up a whole row of radish sprouts and left the weeds to grow in their place.

“Naw,
this
ain’t Rosie’s box lunch,” Chipper said, peeking into the basket. “This lunch is for us. You an’ me. Rosie gots her own.”

“What for?”

“Don’tcha know? Whoever pays the most for Rosie’s lunch gets to eat with her.”

“Well now, what kind of a crazy idea is that? She doesn’t need to make money that way. She’s already got all those bridge tolls. And the barn is beginning to look like a bona fide mercantile. Why would she need to sell her picnic lunch?”

“It’s for the church, Papa. The money goes to the new church. Ain’t you heard about it? Sheena’s been telling everybody.” His blue eyes brightened suddenly. “There’s Rosie! Tell Papa about the auction, Rosie. He don’t know a thing about it.”

Seth turned, and for the second time that summer, his breath dammed up and his heart flopped over in his chest. Pink. Rosie was pink! She came strolling out of the barn, her dress a billowing, bouncing butterfly of pink calico. Tucks and ruffles and bits of lace and ribbons dangled everywhere. A frill of white eyelet petticoat peeked out from the hem. A fringed cotton shawl draped over her shoulders. She had piled her hair up on her head and pinned white ox-eye daisies into the loops and curls. And in her arms she carried a small woven basket covered with a matching pink calico cloth.