The Thorn (27 page)

She was ready and waiting when Nick arrived with the bishop's family buggy. Still using Dawdi's cane to steady herself, she shuffled out the back door and down the walkway. Nick hopped out and came over to walk close to her.

"I don't need to be carried today," she said, laughing.

He followed her around the buggy and stood there watching her struggle to get in. "So, ya think you're doin' fine on your own, then?" Now he was chuckling.

"Just be still." She smiled. "And give me a little boost on my gut foot," she added, anxious to be back to normal again. Once she was settled inside, she realized how very sore she still was.

"Are ya up to ridin' tonight?" he asked when they were out on the road.

"Not sure I can manage a horse well enough," she admitted. George could sometimes be rambunctious, although she loved the horse all the more for being so.

"Well, if it would help, we could ride Pepper together," he suggested. "I'd be careful hoisting you up."

"Let's see how my leg's doin' later. Maybe I'll be able to take George on my own."

He fell silent suddenly and turned his head away to look at the other side of the road.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"You looked awful disappointed."

Nick nodded slowly. "Just tryin' to please the bishop." He sounded glum and sarcastic. "He's eggin' me on to spend time with ya."

"Whatever for?"

Nick shrugged his shoulders.

"You're makin' this up, ain't so?"

He looked surprisingly serious. "No, Rosie. I'm not kidding."

She pondered this while they rode in the buggy, beset with the idea their bishop would want his unbaptized boy spending time with her. "You can't mean he wants us to be more than friends," she said quietly, still puzzling this over.

"He didn't say that, no."

"Well, what, then?"

He paused and glanced at her, then away. "Even if he did want us to court, you've already given your heart away, jah?"

She stared at him. "How on earth would ya know that?"

"So, I guess I'm right." A flicker of a frown crossed Nick's ruddy brow.

True to the People's age-old tradition, she was not going to reveal what she'd agreed to with Silas. "Just because I left with someone after Singing doesn't mean anything," she spouted back.

"No need to holler'bout Silas Good."

She shot him a quick look but decided not to bother with a response.

"By the way, I'll come over and fix up that porch." He motioned toward the Browning house, his tone suddenly more conciliatory.

She nodded abruptly, unsure now why she'd felt so upset with him. "I'll tell Mr. Browning to expect ya."

"Tell him I'll be there first thing tomorrow."

Rose didn't wait for him to come around and help her down. Instead she inched carefully out of the buggy, making sure she was ready to land on her good leg. But she slipped and landed unsteadily all the same, and Nick was there just in time to catch her. "Denki," she said, stepping back quickly, not waiting for him to say more. "Can ya pick me up around eleven o'clock today?"

"Only if you go ridin' with me tonight."

"To please the bishop."

"It'll please him no end."

Rose limped up to the front porch, considering again what Nick had said about the bishop. Supposedly, she thought as Nick circled the lane and headed out with a mocking wave of his hand.

Whoever heard of a man of God encouragin' such a thing!

While Rose washed the week's worth of dishes, she listened for sounds overhead, thinking surely the young woman she'd seen on Monday was upstairs somewhere. Might she still be asleep? She'd heard from Hen that some English folk slept in late.

She looked over at Gilbert Browning, who was reading a magazine. Every so often he glanced at her, which she found curious. Peering down the hallway toward the back door, she wondered if there was another access to the second floor, and if so, where it might be. She'd cleaned the back hall and small bathroom nearby enough to know there wasn't a second stair there. As far as Rose knew, there was no other way upstairs. The reason Mr. Browning plants himself in the doorway ...

The man's odd habit annoyed her greatly, and it was all she could do to keep from asking right out to see the girl he was hiding.

Going now to sort through the papers on the kitchen table, she came upon a few pieces of mail. She turned her back to Mr. Browning while furtively glancing through. Rose noticed a utility bill, a receipt from the nearby general store for two spiral notebooks, and a letter from Arthur, Illinois, addressed to Miss Beth Browning.

"Beth?" she whispered. "Is that the girl I saw?"

Rose finished redding up and quickly wiped down the counters, wondering again if Beth Browning was Gilbert Browning's daughter. She'd appeared young enough to be just that. Yet if that was the case, why hide her?

Rose measured out some rolled oats, cinnamon, baking powder, sugar, and salt and mixed them together. Her employer liked a hearty oatmeal, and it had been a couple of weeks since she'd made her favorite baked oatmeal recipe with pieces of apple, cinnamon, and walnuts.

Rose was breaking an egg into the mixture of cooking oil and milk when she heard a chair slide across the floor overhead, then the distinct sound of footsteps. The noise grew even louder as she set the oven to two hundred seventy-five degrees and the timer for thirty minutes.

Looking over at Mr. Browning, who'd dozed off, Rose could no longer contain herself. She limped over to his chair and stood in front of him, her arms poised on her hips. "Mr. Browning, please wake up!"

He mumbled in his sleep.

"Someone's moving about upstairs."

He rustled and his head came up ... his eyes opened. "What?"

"Don't you hear it?" she blurted, anxious that he not do as before and deny the sounds. "It must be Beth!"

He startled, then scowled. "How do you know that?"

"I saw her name on an envelope."

He muttered, head down again.

"I want to meet her," she said firmly.

He scratched his jaw, his eyes blinking rapidly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

His confounding behavior made her feel both angry and helpless. Rose stepped back and folded her hands in front of her. "Beth must know I'm here - that's probably why she's making noise upstairs."

He straightened himself in the chair. "Have you completed your work for today?"

Ignoring the question, she said, "Beth waved to me when I dropped by Monday morning."

His eyes were fiery. "You had no right!"

"I only want to befriend her," Rose pleaded, hoping he might understand she meant no harm. "Why do you keep her up there?"

"You don't understand." He lumbered to his feet. "No one would." Gilbert Browning got up and moved the chair aside before heading into the sitting room, where he looked toward the stairs. But Beth had suddenly grown quiet. He shook his head, obviously worn down.

"You can trust me," Rose persisted. "Please?"

He leaned on the banister and gazed toward the window, a glint in his eye now. "Beth's all I have left," he said, as if resigned to telling Rose the truth. "I lost her dear mother, and I couldn't bear to lose her, too."

"So, Beth is your daughter?"

He nodded slowly, as if his heart were breaking.

Rose felt overwhelmed with his sadness and loss. "Is that why you keep her locked away?"

"It's best this way," he said. "But I only keep her upstairs when people are around - like you, on Wednesdays." He glanced at the stairs once again. "I need to protect my Beth ... it's not safe for her to be known."

Protect her from what? Rose considered entreating him yet again, wanting more than ever to meet his daughter. "Makes no sense to me."

Mr. Browning moved away from the stairs, back toward Rose. "If you'll excuse me, I must look after her now."

Rose felt desperate - she didn't want to leave. "Might I finish cleaning the kitchen?"

"You've done enough for today." His expression was less harsh now. "I'll put a check in the mail."

She hesitated, hoping he might change his mind, yet not wanting to push the man further.

"All right, then. Good-bye," Rose said reluctantly and turned to gather up her things.

"You told him that?" Solomon said to the bishop as the two men stood around in Sol's workshop.

"Well, isn't it obvious Nick's fond of your daughter?" Aaron helped steady the board while Solomon continued sanding by hand. "It may be our last hope to keep the boy in the fold."

"You honestly think usin' my daughter as bait is a gut idea?"

Aaron's eyes were pleading. "Sol ... it's all I know to do."

Solomon did not appreciate this idea whatsoever. Rose Ann was a special and beautiful girl - lily-white inside and out. Even Emma said they were blessed by God to have such a remarkable daughter. He could not understand why the bishop would put him - and Rose - in such a predicament, particularly when he'd already lost one daughter to a worldly fellow.

"Ain't a gut idea, Aaron ... puttin' it bluntly."

"Ah, Sol. It's up to Rose in the end, j ah? The two of them have been friends for years. Why not just wait and see how this all plays out?" the bishop added.

Solomon clenched his toes in his work boots, and he realized he was shaking his head. The thought of Rosie sacrificed to bring Nick to his knees before God and the church irked him no end!

By midmorning the sun was hidden by heavy clouds, and the atmosphere had turned hazy. Hen asked to borrow some of her mother's stationery. "I never thought of bringing along writing paper," Hen said as the two sat in the kitchen.

Mom, in her wheelchair, had been trying to darn some socks but kept stopping, obviously struggling to manage her pain today. She pointed to the corner cupboard, across the kitchen. "There's a tablet in the middle drawer," she said, her words clipped just now.

Hen, Mattie Sue, and Mammi Sylvia had just finished mixing together ingredients for chicken mushroom bake, one of Mom's favorite recipes for the noon meal. Before that, Hen had driven over to talk with Rachel Glick about changing her week's work schedule to this afternoon and tomorrow morning, which was just fine with Rachel. The woman seemed quite accommodating.

Nick had surprised her by dropping by to see if Mattie Sue wanted to go over with him to visit the bishop's wife, who was baking snickerdoodles with two of her granddaughters Mattie's age. Hen remembered what Dad had said about letting her roam about the farmland freely, so Hen agreed, but only if someone went along with Mattie Sue. Nick had seemed more pleasant than she'd ever remembered him being, but she wondered if it was just that Mattie Sue brought out the best in a person - even Nick Franco.

With Mattie Sue off at the neighbors', Hen was alone with her thoughts. She looked lovingly at Mom, who persevered in her attempt to darn socks, and wondered how many more years her mother could endure such suffering.

Will she live to see Mattie Sue grow up?

Hen closed her eyes and asked God to help her mother. And to help Hen know what to say in her invitation to Brandon - my own husband! She stared out the window, to the wind rippling the grass in the yard and beyond, in the pasture where the horses grazed leisurely. Oh, to live such a trusting life ...