Serendipity (38 page)

“Our beds are warm with my quilts and meals are ready on time. But those quilts will be threadbare in a generation, and a meal is eaten and gone. Twelve generations from now, whatever I salvage of my roses will have multiplied. Those roses and the lessons that belong with them will still survive. Families will be sweeter, lives touched, hearts softened by the legacy. And someday, the women whose faith blossomed, who lived and learned those lessons, will reap one last sweet reward by meeting at the Savior’s feet.

“But in the meantime, the fine gentlemen you’re calling ‘hillbilly geezers’ are my family. You will speak well of them, or you won’t speak at all of them.”

Ma looked a little thunderstruck.

“As I said, I’ve got chores waiting.” Maggie stepped outside.

Scanning the farm, Maggie couldn’t find Todd. A few nights ago, John mentioned he could use some help. Of all days, her husband could have been here today when she’d see if a single one of her rosebushes survived. Deep in her heart, she hoped a few might have escaped the chemical burns. The minute she noticed what her husband had done, she’d cleared away as much of the mess as possible – but after a whole night and most of a day, the newly transplanted roses took a lethal dose. Row by row, she saw the truth. This place had ruined them
. Just like it’s ruining me.

Against all logic or sanity, she still watered each one before she watered the vegetables. The full buckets weren’t as heavy as her heart.

Todd rode up, dismounted, and walked over to her. Eyes and voice somber, he held out a gunnysack. “For you.”

He couldn’t find pink, so he’d settled for something kind of orange. That lone rosebush didn’t lie amongst the graveyard of Maggie’s dead plants. She planted it with the vegetables. Nothing could replace what she’d lost, but he’d wanted her to have something similar. Brokenhearted, she cried as she opened the gunnysack and the whole time she planted the bush. But each time she passed by, she’d caressed the leaves.

Roses – they did odd things to a woman. Ever since he’d given her that entire rose garden, Margaret had changed. She no longer skipped over to him with a greeting on her lips and a hug. Instead, she had rarely left the stove. At the supper table, the Magpie had been less talkative with him – even though she’d liven up and be the belle of the ball if anyone came by. They’d plotted out barters and prayed together – and in those times, she had seemed almost herself – but the rest of the time, she’d taken on an odd reserve.

A wife ought to treat her husband differently. Ja, she should. And she did – but in the wrong way. She had stopped seeking him out. He had to go to her. But she was fairly easy to find since every spare moment had been spent among her flowers. She’d smiled plenty – but it qualified more as a mysterious one, like on her cameos.

Now that he had killed her precious legacy, though, Todd wondered if she’d ever smile again. But wanting to do something, he gave her that one silly rosebush. She’d given him a hug.

Nailing shingles to a twister would be simple compared to understanding his wife.

Maggie.

Her uncle – all of her “uncles” – were right. She was a magpie of a woman. She couldn’t be around people without chattering or trading. Those days on the train, she’d been bubbly. The first week on the farm, she’d done her best to settle in and help Ma adjust. Singing and chattering all the time, she made a point of staying cheerful for Ma. Goodness only knew how hard that was.

Now each morning Maggie walked along the rows of ruined roses. Every so often, she’d bend down and inspect one, but whenever she did, her shoulders slumped as she straightened up.

“Baffles me why Maggie tends those dead thorns.” John’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Todd let out a heavy gust of a breath. “It’s a family legacy. The women use them to pass down stories that teach their daughters, and they make rose lotions and soaps from the petals.”

“Those women must have been saints to inspire devotion and instill the patience Maggie shows your mother.”

“Ja. Ma was a bad patient, yet my Maggie graciously cared for her.” He shot John a wry grin. “I couldn’t do it. I’d sort rattlesnakes before I’d take on Ma as a patient. But she has gotten better.”

Hunkering down, John gave him an odd look, then plucked a weed. “Is Linette coming this afternoon?”

“I never know. Sorry I can’t warn you since Maggie roped you into – ”

“I don’t mind.” John rose. “Miss Richardson is an interesting young woman.”

“So Maggie says. Be careful, though, that she doesn’t mistake your friendship for – ”

“Courting? That’s exactly what I want. Confound it, now that I’m noticing things about her, she couldn’t care less about keeping company with me.”

Maggie and Linette had lively conversations at the supper table – about everything from their friends’ new babies to Chicago World’s Fair. The friendship between them had grown strong. They were two women so thirsty for a friend that everything else paled in comparison. Once an awkward, man-hungry gossip, Linette had changed. John’s comment knocked Todd into taking a fresh look across the supper table.

“Your cantaloupe is so juicy! Ours didn’t do well this year.” Linette ate another bite. “Everyone has tomatoes, but something must have been wrong with the okra seeds. Nobody’s got much to harvest or trade.”

“It might not be the seeds. It can be something else,” Ma opined. “Some things won’t grow here. Like roses.”

“Roses most certainly do grow here!” Linette nearly shouted.

Turning the color of a wisp of smoke, Maggie said, “They do. Old Mrs. Whittsley has lovely bushes. They’re already budding. And – ”

“I meant here. On our farm.” Ma directed her comment to Maggie. “Rose was your maiden name, and you can’t stop talking about your past and how wonderful everything was back home. I’ll bet the barn is filled to the rafters of trinkets those old men gave you.”

“Halt!” Todd boomed.

Ma kept right on. “God destroyed those roses to teach you a lesson.”

In cold fury, he bit out, “It is my fault, not God’s. I burned them. Apologize to my wife. Now.”

Ma didn’t make a sound.

Maggie stared at her. “God isn’t a despoiler of beauty; He’s the Creator and Author. Things that go wrong . . .” Her voice trembled. “They aren’t to be dumped at God’s feet and the blame heaped upon Him. The rain falls on the just and on the unjust.”

“By your logic, Mrs. Crewel,” John said, “when one farmer’s crop thrives and another’s fields fail, it’s a spiritual punishment. You’re condemning every farmer, because we all have good and bad years. Especially this year – we are all suffering.”

Ma argued with great feeling. “You made my point. You are suffering. So am I. God struck down my first husband and then my second. Now He’s stricken me.”

“All are staggering losses,” Linette said, “but you just proved what Maggie said. Good things happen to terrible people just as bad happens to the good.”

John leaned forward. “Ma’am, if you can’t accept that theology, then you’re saying God won’t extend grace to you.”

Todd let them speak. A man controlled his temper, and he could scarcely hold his in. Let them handle the theology now. He had to address the other issue. He’d not let anyone revile or wound his wife.

“I’m older. Wiser. Much I have seen. God is the God of wrath as surely as He is a God of love. He’s every bit as much the God of Revelation as He is of Genesis.”

“Husband,” Maggie said in a strained voice, “where do you stand?”

Between a wife who will praise God no matter the circumstance, and
a mother who – like Job’s friend – felt cursing God and dying was the only
option
. “We are responsible for many of the problems in our lives – through sloth or greed, lying or lust. There are consequences to sin. But in sending His Son, God proved His mercy is far greater than His wrath. He forgives and forgets our sins when we confess them. Children of God are still rained upon, but we have the umbrella of His grace.”

“Amen!” John stood and started gathering dishes.

Maggie hopped up. “I’ll get that!”

“It won’t hurt me to do the dishes. I’d gladly wash and dry every last one of them for a meal you and Miss Richardson cook.”

Maggie’s lids lowered. “Someone else once said that to me.” Forcing a smile, she added, “Only Linette wasn’t cooking with me at the time.”

I’m the one who told her that. In the holler, the men always did the
dishes. Here, I haven’t once. Not a single time. Maggie does them three
times a day. And much of the time, they weren’t the ones she dreamed
of, but Ma’s.

“The two of you don’t have much leisure time all to yourselves.” Linette made a shooing motion. “Go take a walk. We’ll do the dishes.”

“Thank you!” Though his towering rage would defy the coldest of nights, Todd grabbed Maggie’s plaid and yanked her outside before wrapping her up. “We’re going to the barn.”

She dipped her head and shook it. “Nay, Todd. I’m not – ”

“When are you finally going to learn to trust me?” He tugged on her arm.

Digging in her heels, she jerked back. “Trust is earned.”

He did the expedient thing. It had worked once before. Tilting her over his shoulders, he crossed the yard and entered the barn.

Nineteen

Blood rushed to Maggie’s head, making her dizzy. “Put me down!” She pinched his back. “I said, put me down!” It still didn’t work, so she fought just as dirty. Strong as an ox and twice as stubborn, her husband had one weakness. He was ticklish. Seizing his sides, she tickled and shouted, “Put me down!” The minute he obliged, she stepped away.

Todd gave her an icy look. “How am I to learn of you, to love you, when you refuse to trust me?”

Thoroughly incensed, she shot back, “I came to Texas. How much more trust is there?”

“There is the trust that you can come to me with anything – everything. Such trust demands complete truth.” Arms akimbo, he demanded, “Have you withheld truth from me?”

How do I answer that? I don’t want him to know I love him.

Cupping her jaw, he stared into her eyes. “Your silence is answer enough.” He let out a cross between a moan and a growl. “Every night I shut our door and know the land surrounding us has taken all we have to give – and it may not be enough. All of my strength and knowledge and vigor are aimed at providing what you need.” He patted the mare who stuck her head over the stall gate for affection.

If only I could do that – to reach out, confident of our love.
Sorrows swamped her. “If you’re asking if I trust you . . . Yes.” The colts came to her, and she babied them. “So much so, I will gladly follow you to start again wherever you take us.”

“That is a large trust. I pray it’s not one you have to exercise, but knowing you feel thus – it is good. Should I become blind, would you stay with me and lead me where I needed to go?”

She stopped playing with the ponies and gave him an outraged look. “You don’t need to ask that! Of course I would.”

“I am blind to see what you need. My own friend knows better. He spoke, and there was such longing in your eyes and voice – ”

Maggie stepped toe-to-toe and jabbed her finger in his chest. “Have you lost all good sense? Me? Long for John Toomel? Have you so little faith in my loyalty to you and to my dearest friend?” As her voice rose, the horses all shuffled and let out nervous sounds.

Todd looked thunderstruck. Then he had the nerve to laugh. “You misunderstand.”

“You want me to trust you when you make my hair stand on end and laugh afterwards?” She turned her back on him and paid attention to Nuts and Bolts.

“To trust someone, it means you can depend upon them for large and small things. Why, Maggie? Why didn’t you ask me to wash dishes?”

Maggie made an impatient sound. “You washed dishes in Carver’s Holler. Why pretend now that you were ‘blind’ to the need?”

Grazing a set of blinders on a hook, Todd said, “I borrowed John’s eyeglasses for an instant, and then I saw things clearly.” Then he pushed away the gelding who had edged up to him. “Ma is another thing. Does she treat you the same alone as when I am there?”

Maggie kept her distance from Hammer’s stall. Considering his temperament, it was a marvel Todd hadn’t sent him to the glue pot. “Overall, nothing I do is right. It’s not good enough. The bread I bake, the color of a dress – she plans to change me.”