Will the people of Esperanza be able to keep their resolve not to let the war affect their community? Why or why not?
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Chapter One
Cottonwood Falls
May 1873
Sunbeams danced across the altar. The pump organ filled the church with a soothing prelude. But in a place where she should have been at peace, Rose Kellogg bowed her head in shame. An unwelcome emotion rioted through her. There was no avoiding the issue or assigning a different name to her feelings. She was guilty of envy. Worse yet, it was her beloved sister she envied.
She and her younger sister Lily had always been best friends. Never had she coveted Lily’s dolls or wished she had her honey-blond hair and flawless complexion. When they had lived at Fort Larned, Kansas, where their father was post surgeon, Rose, the plainer of the two, had understood that Lily, not she, would receive the attentions of the young officers. Nor had she resented her sister’s opportunity to spend months with their wealthy aunt in St. Louis. Even when Lily had married handsome Caleb Montgomery, Rose had rejoiced in their happiness, content in her role as her widowed father’s housekeeper.
At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she had made peace with the fact it was unlikely she would ever marry.
Caleb and Lily sat in a front pew, Lily cradling their toddler daughter, Mattie. Behind them sat Caleb’s father Andrew, his sister Sophie and his older brother Seth, a gentle giant of a man who doted on Mattie just as Rose did. She watched Lily brush a hand across Mattie’s light-brown curls. To escape from her thoughts, Rose nestled closer to her father. What kind of person begrudges her sister her happiness?
Twisting her hands in her lap, she uttered a silent prayer. Lord, forgive me the sin of envy. Help me to accept with grace the path You have given me. Rose knew the prayer should end there, but she couldn’t help adding to it. And, Lord, somehow, if it be Your will, send me a child of my own.
Pastor Dooley’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Let all the little ones come forward.” The minister then seated himself on the altar steps. Some youngsters bounced to the front, eager for attention, while others clung to a parent before leaving the safety of the pew. An older girl took Mattie by the hand, led her to the front and settled the child in her lap. Mattie clapped her tiny hands in delight.
After the minister welcomed them all by name, he opened his Bible to Jesus’s words. “‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.’”
Pastor Dooley closed his Bible, his gaze roaming from adult to adult. “My friends, what riches we see here.” He gestured at the children. “Innocence, vitality, possibility. These boys and girls are not nuisances or burdens as the disciples at first suggested, rather each is a cherished gift from God.”
Rose gripped her hymnal against the stabbing ache in her chest. A cherished gift from God. A gift she was to be denied.
Dimly she heard the minister urge the congregation to accept the kingdom of God with the innocence and enthusiasm of a child. Then he dismissed the children to their families. When Mattie faced the congregation, her blue eyes widened as she spotted Rose. She hurtled past her parents and into Rose’s arms. “Woze, my Woze. I seed you!”
Rose curled the girl into her lap, fighting sudden tears. Mattie leaned back with a contented sigh and began sucking her thumb. Looking over the child’s head, Rose saw Lily beaming at her. Then Seth Montgomery caught her eye, and the comfort of his broad smile and approving wink settled her nerves. She had Mattie. Granted, she was not a daughter, only a niece, but she was a gift from God. For Rose, it would have to be enough.
* * *
The following Saturday, Seth Montgomery, mending a harness in the barn, was startled to see his sister, Sophie, marching toward him with fire sparking from her eyes. The eleven-year difference in their ages had never daunted her when she wanted to charm him into doing her will. She stopped in front of him, tapping her toe. “Seth Mayfield Montgomery, what is this?” From behind her back, she pulled a white shirt, smeared with grass and mud stains.
“Seems to be my Sunday-go-to-meeting shirt.”
“Seems?” She tossed it into his lap. “Today is Saturday, and wash day, as you well know, is Thursday. Furthermore, I found this poked under your bed.” She shook her head. “I am not your maid. I pity the poor person you marry.”
His mind turned to the women Sophie had tried to foist on him—the overbearing schoolmarm with the stubby legs and the Widow Spencer, agreeable enough to look at despite being five years older than him, and who needed a stepfather for her five unruly children. Then there was Rose Kellogg, a fine woman and excellent cook, but she was more friend than prospect.
Besides, he had reconciled himself to bachelorhood. Life was simpler that way. Less prone to complications and the kind of hurt he had witnessed in his father as a result of his mother’s untimely death.
Seth reluctantly picked up the shirt. “It’s a mess,” he admitted.
“It looks like you wore it to wrestle a calf.”
He didn’t figure it would help his cause to admit that that was precisely how he had soiled the shirt. “I’ll stay home tomorrow.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Surely you don’t want to miss the ice cream social fund-raiser for the Library Society after services.”
Despite his aversion to large community gatherings, his mouth watered in anticipation. “No, I guess not.”
“Let’s make a deal. You need a clean shirt and I need a ride home from town late tomorrow afternoon.” She paused as if gathering courage. “After the social, I’ve been invited for a buggy ride.”
He restrained the growl rumbling in his chest. “Buggy ride? With anybody I know?” The fight seemed to go out of her, replaced by an imploring look. Seth sighed. “I should’ve known. It’s Charlie Devane.”
“I like him, Seth. Please?”
He could never deny her anything, even as an irrational protective instinct warred with the reality that she was twenty-one years old. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not if you want a clean shirt by tomorrow morning.” She took the garment from him and started toward the house. “It’s a lovely day,” she called over her shoulder, “so when my chores are done, let’s ride out to check on the cattle.”
Hardly had he finished the harness repair, when Sophie came flying out of the house wearing her riding skirt with britches showing underneath, a plaid flannel shirt, boots and one of his father’s old felt hats. “I’ve attended to the shirt, the stew is simmering and Pa’s working on the ledgers, so let’s go.”
“Saddle up, then.” He glanced at the sun, reckoning they’d have three hours or so of riding. He was eager to check on the calves. His brother, Caleb, had commented the other evening about seeing more coyotes than usual. There was much beyond their control in ranching life—predators, storms, prairie fires, rustlers—but he wouldn’t trade the challenge for anything.
He had just saddled his pinto, Patches, when Sophie trotted up, mounted on her black mare, Mandy.
“Race you to the creek,” Sophie hollered, and before Seth co
uld collect himself, she was ahead of him. Her hat blew off, held only by the string tie, and her carroty-red curls glinted in the sun. After catching up to her, Seth spurred his horse, reaching the creek first.
“You didn’t give me a fair start, but I won anyway.”
She loosened the reins for Mandy to get a drink. “Men like coming in first.” She grinned impishly. “Maybe I let you.”
“When did you start paying attention to what men like?”
“I’ve lived with them my whole life. I would never have gotten my way without exploiting the habits of you males.”
Seth mustered a wry grin. “Charlie Devane has his work cut out for him.”
They rode side by side to the far pasture. Some cows rested by the small pond, while others grazed, their calves following closely. The rain of the previous night had washed the landscape in vivid color. Seth pulled a small notebook from his pocket and made a notation of the number of calves. Three new ones since his last visit.
“It’s beautiful,” Sophie said, taking in the panorama. “I liked Missouri,” she said, referring to where the Montgomerys had lived until after the War Between the States, “but this is special.”
By way of answer, Seth merely grunted. Not all of his memories of Missouri were positive. School, for instance. He’d never been the student Caleb was. Things didn’t come as easily to him. Nobody had ever called him “stupid,” but the message had been communicated just as effectively through his schoolmates’ stifled giggles and eye-rolling. His face still burned when he recalled standing at the blackboard agonizing over his spelling while the rest of the class stared at him. Maybe he could’ve endured that, but being a head taller than his peers, and gangly at that, had been another source of embarrassment. He still remembered the school-yard chant directed at him:
Goliath, Goliath, you standeth so higheth.
You almost can toucheth the sky-eth!
Giant, giant, GIANT!
Before she died giving birth to Sophie, his mother, and later his father, had assured him his size was an enviable characteristic and that rather than academics, his strength and his talent for making things would be the envy of others. He never quite believed them.
Preoccupied with the past, he hadn’t noticed his sister ride off toward the spring hidden beneath the limestone ledge at the boundary of their property. By the time he joined her, she had dismounted and was hunkering near the spring studying something on the ground. “Look, Seth. This is strange.”
He hopped off Patches, squatted beside her and immediately saw the source of her curiosity. In the damp ground around the spring pool was a recent set of footprints. Before the rain a few hours ago, the soil had been dry. “Boots. Somebody’s been here.”
“That’s not all. Look here.” Sophie pointed to a couple of prints half obscured by the mud near the flowing water. “They’re tiny.”
Seth squinted. “Sure are.” The thought of a child wandering around the place conjured the unwelcome image of a ravenous coyote.
Sophie looked up. “Who do you suppose?”
“Drifters, maybe. Indians passing through. Hard to tell.” He got a drink, then mounted his horse. “Let’s ride home along the creek to check for campsites.”
The sun beat down as they made their way back to the house, alert for hoofprints or other evidence of unwelcome visitors. Nothing. Seth couldn’t help thinking of Sheriff Jensen’s recent warning concerning unsavory elements in the territory. Even though the footprints suggested a single adult and a child, not a gang, the idea of strangers on their property was unsettling.
* * *
The next day after church services, folks gathered on the banks of the Cottonwood River at the base of the main street where the Library Society had erected tables in preparation for the ice cream social. A warm breeze whispered through the leaves of the trees bordering the water, and lilacs perfumed the air. Families were still arriving, spreading quilts on the ground. Some children scampered across the grass chasing rubber balls, while others rode on the merry-go-round or played on the seesaw.
Smiling with satisfaction, Rose watched her friend Bess Stanton approach. A widow and former Civil War nurse, Bess had recently relocated from Maine to be near her sister and had volunteered to help Rose organize today’s event.
“Looks like a success,” Bess said. “Thank you for asking me to help.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Rose hoped to soon introduce Bess to her father. Their war experiences should give them a great deal in common and she could perhaps be of some use in easing Papa’s case load.
When two o’clock approached, the crowd moved toward the bandstand where the Library Society president would make a short speech. At least Rose hoped it would be short. Too long and they risked melted ice cream.
As Rose and Bess made their way closer to the bandstand, Rose saw Lily and Caleb before she spotted Mattie. Rose held out her arms, but to her surprise the child scampered right on past her. “Unca, Unca!”
Seth stood just behind Rose. He knelt down as Mattie approached, a broad grin on his face. “Come to Uncle Seth, sweetheart,” he called. And that’s exactly what she did—catapulting herself into his arms. The sight of the trusting little girl in the big man’s arms made Rose smile. Seth’s tenderness, which seemed incongruous with his brawny build, was one of the reasons Rose liked him so much.
Lily and Caleb joined Rose in admiring the tableau. “I’ve never seen my brother so besotted,” Caleb said.
Lily laced her arm through her husband’s. “You’re pretty besotted yourself, Captain.”
Just then the mayor called for order. Blessedly, he was brief in his introduction of the Library Society president, Willa Stone, who thanked everyone for coming out to support the efforts to begin a library with their donations. She concluded by saying, “If you ladies serving the ice cream will move to your places, the feasting can begin.”
The applause was robust, and on every side, children broke away from their parents to line up with their spoons and bowls. Rose moved among the servers, helping wherever there was a delay. Her hair had come loose around her face in the effort of scooping. Finally there was a lull, and she wiped her forehead on her sleeve.
“Is there any more?” She looked up to see Seth standing before her, holding out his bowl. “I liked the sample.”
“Second and third helpings are our specialty,” Rose answered, “Provided, of course, that you make it worth the Library Society’s while.”
“I wouldn’t short you ladies for anything.”
Rose dug deep into the freezer can she had brought and piled his bowl with rich chocolate ice cream. “You fancy chocolate?”
“Yes, ma’am, but then I always fancy your cooking.”
Rose hoped he thought her blush resulted from the heat. “Thank you.” He seemed reluctant to leave, but neither managed to find the words to prolong the conversation, so when the pastor’s boy arrived for seconds, Seth turned away, and for some reason, Rose felt disappointed.
After the ice cream and cookies had been served, the men and boys decided on a baseball game while the women gathered to visit. When Willa Stone approached and asked Rose to accompany her to the church to help count the donated monies, Rose was thankful for the reprieve. Listening to the chatter of her friends concerning pregnancies, teething and patterns for children’s clothing had left her feeling awkward. Where did a childless spinster fit into such conversations?
When she and Willa returned with the news of an astonishing total of $31.80 in contributions, those within earshot applauded even as others gathered their belongings, exchanged farewells and made their way toward their homes. Lily sought out Rose to give her a hug. “Everybody is talking about what a success this was. You deserve much of the credit.”
Rose took a moment to bask in the compliment before sh
rugging. “I only did what anyone would’ve done.” She watched her sister join Caleb and Mattie in their buggy. When they rode off, Rose wrapped her arms around herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. The bustle was over.
Some of the men were dismantling the tables while a few of the townswomen folded tablecloths and disposed of trash. Rose willed herself not to feel a letdown. She had anticipated this occasion with delight, but now that it was over, she would go home to an empty house.
At noon, her father, the town doctor, had received an urgent summons from a man whose wife was experiencing a difficult labor, so he had been forced to miss the social and had not yet returned.
Rose moved among the stragglers, thanking them for their efforts. At last, she reluctantly made her way home, where only Ulysses, her large gray tomcat, would offer companionship. Reaching the house, she glanced at the sun, an hour or two short of setting, and decided to fix a glass of lemonade and rest a while on the front porch.
She settled herself in the wicker rocker and sipped her lemonade. Rose reflected that after years of looking out on a dusty cavalry post, it was pleasant to live on a tree-lined street where she could study the neighbors’ houses and watch the passing pedestrian and horse traffic. Off in the distance rose the clock tower of the nearly completed county courthouse, modeled on the French Renaissance style. Three stories high, it was built of native limestone blocks quarried nearby, hand-cut and then transported by wagon to the site. Rose was still awed by such architectural grandeur here on the prairie.
Ulysses lazed on the floor beside her. She had found him cowering under the back stoop the day they moved into the house, his gray fur tangled and one ear missing a small chunk. At the fort, they had never had a pet, so she had enjoyed fattening up Ulysses.
“Afternoon, Miss Rose.” At the sound of the male voice, the cat skittered off into the yard.
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