“There’s not even a town with sidewalks where she could say hello to everybody an’ show off her new dresses an’ bonnets.”
“Well, that’s true, too.”
“Now, Rosie is really different from Mama. Rosie don’t care about mirrors an’ showin’ off. She fits just right out here on the prairie.”
“She sure does.”
“Rosie gots lots of good ideas about things. Like bridge tolls. An’ barn painting. An’ cooking squirrels. An’ making clothes out of grain sacks. I love Rosie a lot. Do you?”
Seth looked around, saw that Rosie had left the barn, and nodded. “I reckon she’s a pretty special lady.”
Chipper leaned around and looked into his father’s eyes. “Maybe you ought to marry Rosie and get you an’ me another good mama.”
“I might just do that, Chipper,” Seth said softly. But as he spoke the words, he read the pain of loss in his son’s eyes. Taking a wife would bring Chipper the comforts of a mother’s love. It would bring Seth the joy of marriage. But it would also bring the risk of loss. For a woman, life on the prairie meant hardship, disease, and the dangers of childbirth. Could he and Chipper bear to lose another love? Was the hope worth the risk?
And what about Chipper himself? Seth had no guarantee that he could keep his son nearby. Cornwall threatened that hope for happiness. If the man stole Chipper, life would seem empty—all but unbearable.
“How come you’re always thinkin’ you lost me?” Chipper piped up. “How come you always go runnin’ up an’ down the creek like a chicken with its head cut off? You don’t let me go nowhere by myself. Not even to sleep in the old storage chest. How come?”
Seth lifted his son’s chin. “You know your uncle is looking for you, Chipper. He wants to take you away with him. But I don’t want you to go.” He gently kissed the child’s forehead. “I love you, Chipper. I love you very much.”
Chipper wriggled around in his father’s lap until he could slip his arms around Seth’s neck. “I love you, too, Papa.”
When Seth lifted his focus, he saw Rosie had returned to the barn. She was standing in the doorway, a lantern in one hand and a pitcher of milk in the other. Her brown eyes were misty as she studied the father and son.
“I thought we might as well make use of some of this food that was left behind,” she said softly. “Chipper, would you like a big slice of strawberry pie before bed?”
“Strawberry pie!” The child slid off his father’s lap and raced across the floor. “I was sleepy before, but now I’m hungry.”
Seth stood. As he watched Rosie cutting pie and pouring milk and as he studied his son’s dark head and bright, happy eyes, he knew the answer in his heart. Yes. He wanted to marry Rosie. He wanted to take the risk.
But as he approached, she leaned toward him. “Seth, Jack Cornwall was inside the soddy while we were all out searching,” she whispered in his ear. “He’s stolen your rifle.”
R
OSIE?” Sheena’s high-pitched voice rose at the end of the word. “Rooo-SIE?”
Rosie watched through the soddy’s open front door as her friend came scurrying over the pontoon bridge like a mama duck with her five little ducklings in tow. Bonnet ribbons flying, Sheena waved a sheet of white paper over her head. “I’ve had a letter from Ireland! All the way from God’s country. Rosie, where are you?”
Rosie wedged the final loaf of bread into the hot oven and pushed the door shut. The little soddy felt warm enough inside to bake bread without the oven, she thought as she mopped the back of her neck with a cool, damp handkerchief. It would be a welcome break to talk with Sheena for a few minutes—even though it was less than an hour to lunchtime and Seth would be looking forward to a meal.
“I’m here, Sheena.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped out of the soddy. It was almost July and not a breath of breeze stirred the still summer air. Across the prairie, the tall grass stretched out like a vast, golden-threaded blanket shimmering in the heat. The limitless surface was marred only by the small green patches that made up Seth’s fields. Rosie mused that even though the cultivated acres broke the God-created symmetry of the prairie, they offered the promise of food and sustenance for his people.
As she walked toward Sheena, Rosie turned over in her mind the amazing fact that she had come to love the prairie. Every spare moment she could carve out of the day, she wandered out across the majestic plains—picking wildflowers for the dinner table, watching the antelope graze, marveling at the glorious sky that rolled overhead in waves of depthless blue. The thought of ever returning to the confines of a brick orphanage, high limestone walls, and air darkened by smoke made her shudder. Yet she had made up her mind to obey God’s direction, no matter where he led.
“It’s just as I’d hoped,” Sheena called, puffing up the last few yards to the soddy’s front yard. “Better than I’d dreamed! I’ve had a letter from Caitrin. You know my little sister? My beauty? My sweet, precious Caitie?”
“Yes, you’ve told me about Caitrin,” Rosie said, dragging a bench into the scant shade of the little soddy’s overhanging roof. “Sit down and give me all the news.”
“Better yet, I’ll read it to you!” Sheena shooed the children off to find Chipper in the fields. Then she set a pair of spectacles on her nose, unfolded the letter, and spread it across her lap. “Sure, it’s taken me all morning to make sense of the writing, but I believe I have it. Listen to this.” She began to read in a slow, halting voice. “‘My dearest Sheena, All is well with the family and me. How are you? How is Jimmy? How are all the wee ones?’”
Here Sheena paused and took off her spectacles. “Caitie’s never met any of them, you know. Not even Erinn, and she’s already eight years old. Can you imagine? I’ve not clapped eyes on my dear Caitrin for more than eight years.”
“I know you’ve missed her terribly.”
“Haven’t I?” Sheena shook her head and went back to the letter. “‘I have made up my mind … not to wed Seamus Sweeney—’” Again Sheena stopped reading. “Seamus Sweeney is a fisherman’s son and a rotter, if I do say so myself,” she confided. Her green eyes flashed. “I never knew what Caitie saw in him. Of course, it was our papa who set the whole thing up, so he did. Papa is the fishmonger in our town, and he thought it would make a good partnership to join with the Sweeney family in business and in marriage. You know, Caitie’s always been such a good girl, Rosie. She’s always done everything she was told, so she has. I feared she would marry that
sherral
, even if she didn’t want to. But now she hasn’t after all!”
“Good for Caitrin.”
“So you say, but can you imagine what my papa thinks about this? Sure, he’ll be in great kinks. At any rate, I’ll read again. Now where was I? Oh yes. ‘Dearest Sheena, I am … com-coming … to see you.’ There you have it! She’s coming to see me, Rosie! Coming here—to America. Can you credit it? I’m sure I can’t. Listen to this. ‘I shall see you in … August.’ Now isn’t that what it says, Rosie? August?”
Rosie leaned over Sheena’s shoulder and studied the letter. For the difficulty her friend was having in reading it, Rosie had expected a poorly written document. Instead, the handwriting was neat, the words crisp, the message carefully spelled out.
“Yes, it’s August,” Rosie said, reading quickly through the message. “Caitrin’s coming to Kansas at the start of the month, and she wonders if there might be a teaching position anywhere near you.”
“Is that what she’s written? Teaching. Well, I couldn’t make out that word at all.
Teaching
. Why would you put an
a
in a word like that, Rosie? Sure, it ought to have a double
e
by all rights. You know I never went to school but a year or two. But Caitie—well, she’s been all the way through, so she has. She’s very smart. Yes, indeed. Our Caitrin is a well-rounded young lady. I suppose she believes she could earn wages as a teacher in America.”
Rosie considered the situation for a moment. “You have five children, Sheena. As you said, Erinn’s already eight years old, and Will is six. Chipper’s five. Then there are the youngest of the Rippeto children. Mr. and Mrs. LeBlanc have all those daughters, too. Casimir Laski might even want to send his son.”
“Sure, the boy is seventeen!”
“But he can’t read a word. At the start of the barn dance, I handed him a list of the guests and asked him to mark off who had come. He couldn’t even read his own name, Sheena. How will he make anything of himself without an education?”
“A man doesn’t need to know how to read and write to plow a field. My Jimmy couldn’t spell his name if he tried. But it’s all the same to me. I love him anyway.” She studied the letter for a moment. “Still, it would be wonderful if our Caitie could teach the children in the winter months, wouldn’t it, Rosie?”
“Yes, it would. It sounds like she needs some kind of work to do now that she’s not going to marry.”
“Oh, she’ll marry. Caitie’s a fine, beautiful girl, so she is. She was only fourteen when I left Ireland, but she’s twenty-two now and well into the age where she ought to find a husband. Besides that, she’s a stunning lass. Red hair in grand big curls falling all over the place. And such eyes. Sure, you never saw such pretty green eyes in all your days. I have no doubt the young farmers will scramble to court Caitie the moment she gets here. She won’t have any trouble finding a husband. But no … no, I think teaching would be a nice diversion for her. I believe I’ll send a message to the Rippeto and LeBlanc families. Do you suppose Seth would let us use his barn for the school?”
Rosie shifted on the rough-hewn bench. The idea of a red-haired, green-eyed beauty charming Seth Hunter into marriage had caused her an uncomfortable pang. Even though Seth had not given many hints as to his feelings about her, Rosie had sensed that things between them had begun to change—soften—ever since the night of the barn dance.
Now Sheena wanted her beautiful red-haired sister to use Seth’s barn as a schoolhouse? To see him every day? The barn was Rosie’s home, her only place of solitude, her haven of rest. …
“Sure, you won’t be needing the barn by winter, will you?” Sheena asked. “You’ve told me you might well be wedded to Rolf Rustemeyer by that time. And if you don’t marry the German, Seth means to cart you back to Kansas City—not that I’d want you to go, of course. But the barn would be free, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, the cows—”
“Caitie could teach the children in the loft! There’s lots of room up in the loft, so there is. Oh, Rosie, I cannot wait for you to meet my little Caitie. She’s the prettiest thing! A fair flower! I shall have to plan a party to welcome her. Glory be, that reminds me of the second bit of news. There’s to be a picnic on the Fourth of July. An Independence Day celebration—and it’s hardly a week away. LeBlanc is hosting it, so he is. His wife is planning to hold a box-lunch auction for all the unmarried girls. You know the LeBlancs have all those pretty daughters. I’m sure the missus is hoping to hook a husband or two at the picnic. But the box-lunch auction will include you, too! And won’t you be in demand with all the young farmers? Sure you will! Now if Caitie were here, there’d be a fair brawl over her, so there would. I’m half-glad she isn’t, aren’t you?”
Rosie nodded, her mental image of the young green-eyed Caitrin transforming moment by moment into the most glorious creature who ever walked the earth.
“The money is going to a very good cause,” Sheena explained. “LeBlanc wants to put up a church, so he does. If we can raise enough to buy the lumber, perhaps the men will build it in the fall.”
“A church!” Rosie cried. “But where? Will it be beside the mill?”
“No, no. LeBlanc owns only the land his mill is sitting on and the water rights. It’s not a proper homestead. No, he’s asking someone else to donate an acre or two for the church. Sure, I’m going to press my Jimmy for it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? A church on our own homestead. Perhaps we’d even have a minister for it one day.”
Rosie couldn’t imagine the reticent Jimmy O’Toole wanting a church full of people on his property. But if Sheena made her case forcefully enough, it could happen. A church … with hymns and preaching and evening socials. The thought of it fairly transported Rosie.
“You’re in a dream world,” Sheena said, elbowing her friend as they sat together. “What do you think of LeBlanc’s proposal? Our very own church, right out here on the prairie.”
“It would be wonderful, Sheena. And with all the people passing through, the minister could touch so many lives.”
“Aye, the traffic across our bridge has nearly doubled by my count.”
“
More
than doubled in the last two weeks.” Rosie glanced across the fields to see if Seth was coming. Then she leaned closer to her friend. “The storage chest in the barn is already full again, and I’ve traded for two more big trunks. Every time someone wants to trade instead of pay the toll, I have to haul everything out and set it all up. I’d love to leave the merchandise out for view—put up pretty displays and even build counters. But I don’t want to worry Seth. He’s so concerned about Jack Cornwall showing up again, and I don’t want him to think my trading post would draw trouble.”
“Your trading post, is it?”
Rosie shrugged. “Sheena, I could put a stop to it all. And I would—if I thought this might harm Seth or Chipper in any way. But I-I’m afraid I will have to go away one day, and I want to leave them with something. I know Seth doesn’t really like my trading. But it’s what I have to give. If I could get a post office commission, I’d have so much traffic I would have to put up a hotel.”
“Great ghosts, that reminds me!” Sheena tugged a second letter from her pocket. “LeBlanc brought this along with my letter from Caitie the last time he picked up the mail in Topeka. Look, it’s for you, isn’t it?”
Rosie stared at the travel-stained white envelope. “It’s from the Christian Home. It’s from Mrs. Jameson.”
“Well, stop casting sheep’s eyes at the thing and read it.”
The letter was Rosie’s first contact with the place where she had lived so many years. They had been years of struggle, loneliness, and an aching hunger for love. Half of her heart commanded her to pitch the letter into the stove and burn it up. Destroy that part of her life forever and look forward. Only forward.