The Woodsman's Rose

by Gifford MacShane

  She laughed merrily. “Yes, dear, and it will be for at least twelve more days.”

  The woodsman had to laugh at his brother, too. But he wondered at the same time how he’d feel in Adam’s place.

  Chapter 56

  When Daniel and Annie arrived, both Adam and Rebecca were in the bedroom, holding Jesse’s hands while she moaned in pain. Annie took Adam’s place and he went out to fall weakly on the couch.

  “How’s it going?” Daniel asked.

  “Rebecca says she’s doing fine. Everything as it should be. But it sure is good to see you.”

  “Annie wanted to come. Doctor on the way?”

  “Brian went for him about two o’clock this morning. He should be back by now.” The anxiety Adam had managed to keep hidden from his wife found its way into his voice.

  “I heard there was an outbreak of fever up at the Navajo camp.”

  For a moment, Adam stared at him. “Oh, God! If he went up there, Brian’ll never get him back in time.”

  “I could go get Mother.”

  “Would you?” Adam leaped to his feet and herded Daniel toward the door. “Take Apples, he’s the fastest. Here’s your hat. My saddle’s on his stall.”

  “Can I take my coat, too?”

  “Take anything you want—just go! Now!”

  With the woodsman gone, Adam began to pace up and down in front of the hearth, smoking incessantly and listening to his wife’s moans. On occasion, Annie or Rebecca would come out for fresh towels or water and tell him Jesse was doing fine. He struggled to believe them, and her first scream hit him like the blow of an ax. He stood still then, just outside the bedroom door, ready to run to her if she called for him. Or if she were afraid. He was standing there when his mother arrived.

  The sun had passed its zenith; he couldn’t believe so much time had passed. Molly took his hand and guided him to the rocking chair.

  “Sit here, acushlah,” she said as if he were a child. She brushed his black hair back. “You need your hair trimmed, my lad.” He gave her a half-hearted smile as she squeezed his hand. “There is no need to be afraid. She will be fine. The baby will be fine, I feel it. Do you remember your Gran said the sorrowful times are over?”

  “Almost,” he replied, “almost over.”

  “Yes, for she knew that she would soon leave us, and that we should have sorrow for that. She said you would find great happiness. Have you?”

  “Yes.” It was like a prayer, reverent and low.

  “Then believe in it. Believe in your grandmother’s vision.”

  Adam’s eyes popped open as Jesse screamed. “Go to her,” he begged. “Help her.”

  “Yes, acushlah, and soon we shall have another little Donovan.”

  Daniel came in moments later and Adam held out a hand to him. “Thanks. For bringing her. And for bringing Annie.”

  “How is she?”

  “They’re still telling me she’s fine. But, brother, it sure don’t sound like fine to me.”

  As if to punctuate his sentence, Jesse screamed again, her voice starting as a low rumble, then traveling up the scale to a note that would make a prima donna envious. He heard his mother soothing her, saw Annie run out to the kitchen with the black bag, heard Rebecca’s voice in encouragement. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sounds any longer, and an old, melodious voice whispered in his ear. All will be well.

  Molly had sent Annie out to prepare a tisane for Jesse. She’d listened to the beating of the baby’s heart, felt the strength of the last contraction, and determined that Jesse’s small body was ready to deliver her baby. The tea, when it came, was comprised of white willow bark, which would dull the mother’s pain without making her lethargic, and trillium, or Indian shamrock, to strengthen her womb and her contractions. Jesse drank it without protest. Within minutes, whether by nature’s design, or God’s or the medicine’s, Molly was holding the baby’s head.

  “All right, mavourneen, one more time for the shoulders, then it will be easier. There’s a good girl.”

  Annie and Rebecca stood on either side of the bed, Jesse clenching their hands hard. Her moan escalated to a scream but she continued to follow Molly’s direction, as the perfect little baby fought his way into the world.

  Molly bound the cord in two places and cut it swiftly; she cleaned the infant, clearing his tiny nose and mouth. Then she picked him up and jiggled him, slapping him gently on the seat to make him breathe. He let out a lusty yell, and Jesse opened her eyes wide, reaching for him. Molly swaddled him and laid him on his mother’s breast. She touched the tawny head and said, “You’ve done a wonderful job, mavourneen. He’s beautiful.” But Jesse didn’t look up.

  Molly washed her hands and left the room. Her eldest son stood outside the bedroom door. Brian had made it home, too, and was just taking off his hat and coat. Daniel sat by the fireplace and they all beamed when she said,

  “Another little Donovan baby. My son...” She took Adam’s hand and squeezed it as her voice dropped a notch. “You have a son.”

  “Thank you.” He hugged her hard. “Is she all right? Can I see her? Can I see him?”

  “She’s fine. They’re both fine. Give us just a few minutes to straighten up.”

  He nodded speechlessly and turned to his brothers, found himself enveloped in Brian’s bear hug. Scarcely able to breath, he hugged his twin back. Then Daniel was pounding on his shoulder so hard it staggered him. He couldn’t say a word as they congratulated him—his wife was fine, and his baby was alive. He hadn’t realized the depth of this fear, but its sudden absence made him dizzy. Then his mother beckoned to him from the doorway.

  He went in slowly, quietly, as Annie and Rebecca came out. Approaching the bed with reverence, he saw his infant son at his mother’s breast. He went down on his knees, put his head on her pillow, stroked her hair, then touched his son’s perfect little cheek.

  Annie was peeking around the door, and motioned for the others to come close. They heard him say, “Oh, Jesse, mavourneen, I love you so much.”

  “Acushlah,” he said to the baby, “you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Except for your mother.” Raising his head, he asked, “Does he have a name?”

  “Kevin.”

  “Kevin.” He’d been sure she’d choose Brian. “But Jesse, you said...”

  “I said ‘after’,” she said with a sly look. “‘After all your brothers.’ And ‘K’ comes after ‘J’, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 57

  Doc Barber stopped at Sidhean Annie one afternoon and brought news from the Navajo camp. Short Feathers, the father of Blue Deer, was displeased that Daniel had made his son an artificial leg. The boy had been ecstatic when Daniel and the doctor had first presented it; the leather cuff fit over his thigh and a series of criss-crossed leather bands buckled around his leg and waist. Tommy had crafted a jointed foot, and between the boy’s long pants and his new knee-high moccasins, the wooden leg was never seen. Blue Deer walked with a slight sideways limp, and treated the prosthesis with devotion.

  But Short Feathers had forbidden the boy to wear it, and his son was again being tormented by his peers, while the old ones were once more ignoring his gifts. Theo told them the boy was heartbroken and had taken to sitting silently in his hogan, which displeased his father even further.

  Leaving Annie at the dairy farm one morning, Daniel asked Tommy to accompany him to the Navajo camp. They visited with the elder Running Wolf, whom Daniel had counted among his friends for years. Though he was no chief, his people had followed him without question, but now Running Wolf was losing his influence over the tribe.

  When the old chief had died, his son had ascended to power in his place. But the young warrior hadn’t lived long, dying the following spring of the measles. He had no heirs. Though his people wanted Running Wolf as their chief, he wouldn’t accept the position, stating he wasn’t wise enough to lead them. Since then, the men would meet occasionally for the ostensible purpose of choosing a new le
ader, but it was never finalized. The tribe was happy following Running Wolf, who respected their traditions and made no decisions without consulting them. The older people were secure in his care; the children were safe from the missionary schools and were continuing to learn the traditions of their people.

  It was the youth who were unhappy, those who’d been segregated from their tribe at the missionary schools. They’d found no place in the white man’s world, found that their place in their own world had been irretrievably denied them, and the reappearance of Yellow Knife was turning some of them against the wisdom of their elders.

  The woodsman listened carefully to Running Wolf’s words. They spoke a patois of English, Navajo and Spanish, each man understanding more of the other’s language than he could speak, with Tommy interpreting where needed.

  Yellow Knife had come back with six more warriors. The tribe hadn’t turned them away, for the way of the Navajo was to welcome all. Here the elder gestured at Daniel. The same, he said haltingly, as the way of the Donovan. The woodsman accepted the compliment with a nod.

  But the young people had been restless and the hatred Yellow Knife bore for the white man had infected them. Running Wolf could no longer control them. Their parents had lost contact with the children through the long years of missionary school, and the bonds of mutual respect hadn’t been forged. Criticism was met with rage and accusations of cowardice. The harmony of life had been disrupted, and Running Wolf tried to express his regret. But the elder’s parting words were not lost on him.

  “Go no more alone. Go careful. No more alone.”

  The message sent a chill down the woodsman’s spine. He offered the older man his hand, then turned and picked up his rifle as a warrior came into the camp. He was younger and slightly taller than the woodsman, his face set in a sneer. His bare chest was broad and muscular, his arms corded with veins. His hips were narrow, his legs as heavily muscled as his arms. His skin had an unmistakable tint of yellow, indicating a white ancestor somewhere in his past. Daniel wondered if it accounted, at least in part, for his hatred of whites.

  The warrior came close, stood in front of Tommy, and spat out some words Daniel didn’t understand. But Tommy waved a dismissive hand at Yellow Knife, flicking him off as he would a fly. Having forty pounds of muscle on the interloper, and no lack of confidence in his own skill as a fighter, Tommy was obviously not in any awe of Yellow Knife.

  But he’d still be a formidable opponent, Daniel thought, then wondered at it; they had no quarrel, yet it was plain the Navajo was antagonistic to him as well as to Tommy.

  Rifle in hand, Daniel nodded once again to Running Wolf, then turned and slipped into the forest. He looked back once to see perplexity on the face of the young warrior and smiled to himself. It had been a long time before the tribe had accepted his accomplishments as a hunter and tracker. White men, they were sure, were no more at home in the woods than mule deer would be in the town. Evidently Yellow Knife shared this prejudice. Someday it might stand me in good stead.

  Again he wondered at the thought, turning it over and over in his mind. A nagging suspicion couldn’t be eradicated. I’m getting like Annie—I’m trying to read the future. But she’s the one with the gift, not me. And it will only frighten her if she senses this fear in me. So he beat his uneasiness down, but slipped cautiously through the woods until he was on Donovan land again.

  Chapter 58

  Spring arrived early and as quietly as the two babies would let it; Kevin had a touch of colic and Adam was teething. Molly gave Jesse a tisane of catnip and licorice root which soothed her baby’s stomach, while Evelyn dipped her finger in the best Irish whiskey and rubbed it on her son’s gums. The mothers were together as often as they could arrange it, meeting at least once a week at the Donovan ranch. Rebecca, Molly, Irene and the sisters-in-law doted on the children and spoiled their mothers. John Patrick and his sons were proud as peacocks, and discussed each gurgle, burp and hiccough as if it were the greatest of accomplishments.

  Kevin looked just like his father—soft black hair and bright blue eyes, wide brow narrowing to a pointed chin. The first time he curled one eyebrow up from the middle, they laughed for hours.

  His cousin, Adam’s namesake, presented them with something of a quandary. He had a shock of bright red hair but his light blue eyes had turned to hazel. His face was round, his eyes big, his nose turned up a bit at the end. Any exposure to the sunlight caused freckles to form on the bridge of it. The discussions as to which of his parents he resembled became quite lively at times, until Annie put an end to them.

  “Don’t you see? He looks just like Papa!”

  Jesse upheld her opinion and, when Evelyn stood behind her father-in-law and draped her bright hair over his head, they had to admit that, if Owen had been blessed with a mass of unruly red curls instead of a bald pate, there would have been no question whatsoever.

  Jesse rarely got to town—Adam felt it was too long a trip for her and Kevin to make. Come summer, she’d change his mind and he’d learn, as his father had, that babies were hearty. Meanwhile she smiled at his solicitude and respected his anxiety, and came to the ranch to catch up on the news.

  There was no doubt White’s Station was changing. John Riley had transformed the squatter’s shack he’d purchased into a charming cottage complete with blue shutters and a tiny lilac bush. Daniel and John Patrick had helped him irrigate and transform the patch of barely arable land into a respectable farm. It stood on the south end of town, only a few doors away from the Barber’s, and Riley and his children passed many a pleasant evening with the doctor and his sister. Miss Jane now smiled almost continuously, and the attempts Sarah Taylor made to involve her in gossip were futile.

  The merchant’s wife wasn’t an astute woman, but finally even she had to admit there was no longer enough merchandise leaving her husband’s store to support them. The traders were stopping at Wang Shen’s first, for he had an unerring eye for quality and offered fair prices for their goods. The trappers went to him for the same reasons—Wang Shen would pick through their pelts carefully, turning away only those which were of particularly low quality, offering the same scale of prices to all comers.

  The Navajo traded with Wang Shen, for he let the tribe run an account against the blankets, baskets, furs and silver articles they promised to deliver. They quickly learned he wouldn’t accept second-rate goods in trade and respected him the more for it. The poorer families traded with him because he didn’t harass them about their balances and would accept payment in kind—eggs, jams, jellies, hand-made quilts and coverlets, even knitted gloves and mufflers. Again his scale of payment was applied equally to everyone. If he made a change in price, he’d post it on a slate board by his cash register, and in advance whenever possible.

  News got around that Wang Shen was creating work for the poorer families by accepting their hand-crafted and home-made goods. Most of the community was closely-knit, neighborly, its members more than willing to lend a hand to those in need. There was no shame attached to poverty, no sting of charity to remind them, for their help was solicited whenever the village needed anything talent or effort could supply. The town hall was a shining example—every family was expected to contribute to the upkeep of the building, whether by painting, cleaning, or repairing. No one was asked to do what he couldn’t do, contribute what he didn’t have. And no offer of help was ever turned down.

  Wang Shen was a round peg in a round hole and the citizens of White’s Station wanted him to stay. So they patronized his store and in return were treated fairly and with dignity. Until even Sarah Taylor realized something had changed.

  Robert Taylor dated his store’s decline not from the arrival of Wang Shen, but from the closing of the Donovan accounts. He’d been paid in full within a week of his last conversation with John Patrick and the money kept him going through the winter. He’d fed himself on the hope that Donovan would forget whatever had aggravated him and return to the mercantile for his spr
ing purchases, but he watched with a sinking heart as Brian, Frank and Geordie drove away from town with loaded wagons. Finally he forced himself to admit that, whatever the reason was, the effect hadn’t been temporary.

  And my stupid wife had to go and tell everyone she knew that the Donovans were buying at Wang Shen’s. He didn’t remember that Owen, Tommy, and others had patronized the new shop before John Patrick made his move, and he was sure his store had been ruined by a single man’s preferences. In fact, the influence the Donovans exerted, though subtle, was nonetheless real; many of those who wouldn’t ordinarily have committed themselves to any kind of change were swayed by the absence of the family in the mercantile.

  Rumors abounded. The Donovan accounts were said to have been closed because the merchant had cheated them, because the winter feed hadn’t been delivered on time, because Molly had found weevils in the flour. In fact, every ill deed Taylor had ever done, was accused or even suspected of, was expounded as the reason for the Donovans’ defection. The elder Donovan had given strict orders to his family that nothing be said, whether in denial or verification of the rumors. He told them only that Jesse had been hurt by the merchant’s wife. They accepted it without question.

  Wang Shen was both happy and anxious over his new status as the town’s primary supplier. He’d hoped to attract enough custom to run his shop as a general store for a year or two, then specialize. For he was a lover of machinery. Any machine, big or little, any part, any tool—he knew them all intimately. A farmer could come to him and ask for the “thingamabob that makes the whatsis go round” and in a matter of minutes, have the right part in his hand. For the right price.

  It was his son who handled the ordering of the foodstuffs and dry goods—a young man of eighteen who understood fabric and clothing and household supplies as his father understood hardware. But Wang Lei had been granted a college scholarship to an Eastern university and would be leaving the family business in September.