But she’d rather die than go back and live out her life as an old-maid teacher. If Pa had only trusted her enough to let her run the ranch as she’d begged him to… But short of her finding a husband and marrying before his death, Pa had never intended to leave the place to her. So there had been nothing to do but the next best thing: come to Rachel and Finn. “Papa! Elsa pulled my hair!” The cry came from the bed where Rosemary had slept.
Rosemary’s stomach clenched as Heinrich expelled a sigh and got up from his chair. She watched as he walked across the room and opened the curtain. “Vat is this about pulling hair?” he bellowed.
Rosemary’s pa had never been one to yell. He was firm but soft-spoken—a trait shared by Rachel. Rosemary had been more inclined to raise her voice when riled. But that didn’t mean she wanted to hear a grown man intimidate his children in such a way. She waited for the forthcoming reprimand.
“Must you be now tickled?” he bellowed.
Both girls began to squeal and giggle, and Rosemary relaxed. She smiled at the sound of the father playing with his children, and her thoughts went back to one of the first letters she had received from Rachel.
The Germans from Russia are hardworking, well-bodied, hardy folk who cook the oddest food, which I have to admit I’ve developed an affinity for. There are 160 acres for the taking, if one can endure the hardship for five years. Mostly the Germans keep to themselves, but we’ve befriended a few, in particular Herr and Frau Fischer. They have four children and Agnes is with child again. I must say, I like them quite well.
Again Rosemary smiled. She could hear Agnes moving around in the loft with the boys. And the girls were still wrestling with their pa. She could well believe Rachel had grown to love this noisy, lovable family after the years of quiet in their large, nearly empty home. Pa had never been one to enjoy the boisterous antics of children, and Rosemary couldn’t imagine him wrestling and playing the way Mr. Fischer was making his girls giggle so hard they were losing their breath.
By the time the meal was ready, the children had all appeared, dressed with hair smoothed, and were sitting at the long table on their best behavior.
“Now, my children,” Heinrich grunted out, “you must all say goot morning to Fräulein Jackson, who is the sister of Frau Tate, and Herr Bakker, who drives the freighter to bring supplies to Herr Morehouse’s General Store in Paddington.”
The two boys, ten and eleven years old, were the image of their father despite their hair. Thick white-blond hair topped Heinrich Jr.’s head. He was the elder of the two and his eyes remained sober, as though he knew the responsibility that comes from being the eldest son. Afonso, the only red-haired child of the five, held out his hand. Rosemary saw the willful spirit in Afonso’s eyes though his body remained still, and he said, “Goot morning, Fräulein Jackson. You are very pretty like Frau Tate.”
“Why, thank you, Afonso.” Rosemary couldn’t contain her laugh as she shook his hand.
He shrugged and looked away, eyeing the food on the table.
Heinrich Jr. stretched out his hand as well. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Fräulein.” Rosemary reached across the table and shook his cool hand. He met her gaze with a frank sincerity that drew Rosemary.
Elsa’s pretty blue eyes were full of spirit, but she offered a shy smile. Rosemary met her gaze and grinned. “I have already met your very cold feet, my little friend.”
Elsa pressed her lips together to hide her smile, but her eyes couldn’t contain a thing. Rosemary liked her immediately. Even more so when the little girl said, “I thank you for the warmth of your back.”
Delighted and surprised by the girl’s words, Rosemary couldn’t resist the urge to toss back her head and laugh as Agnes scolded her precious daughter.
The eldest child, Marta, cleared her throat. “Pleased to meet you, Fräulein Jackson,” she said, lowering her lashes. “Pleased to meet you, Herr Bakker.” Her face reddened as she addressed the driver, and Rosemary suspected that the girl, on the verge of womanhood, did not have many occasions to be in the company of men other than her father.
“Pleased to meet you too, little lady,” Mr. Bakker said, oblivious to her discomfort. He winked and her blush deepened.
Rosemary smiled at Marta, whose face still glowed from the experience. “I’m also very pleased to meet you, Marta. And thank you for loaning me your dress last night. I’m afraid I fell asleep while still wearing it.” It was a little tight across the chest, but otherwise it fit her perfectly.
“It was my pleasure, Fräulein.”
Heinrich glanced around the table and the children instantly fell silent. “Ve shall ask the Lord’s blessing now, before ve eat.”
Rosemary closed her eyes, thankful for the stillness that even the simplest prayer of thanks could bring.
When the meal was over, Heinrich nodded to Marta, who stepped over to the mantel and took down a book. She brought it to Heinrich.
“We read from the Vord of God,” he said, eyeing first Herr Bakker then Rosemary. He opened and began to speak in a language that Rosemary assumed was German.
“In English, please, Heinrich,” Agnes gently chastised. “Our guests do not understand.”
He muttered an apology and began to read in halting English from the Twenty-third Psalm. The first two verses were so difficult for him to read, Rosemary felt sorry for him. She lifted a finger. Heinrich’s eyebrows rose but he stopped reading. “Fräulein?”
“I know this passage by heart, and I would love to hear it read in your language.” She swallowed, suddenly feeling foolish and hoping she hadn’t offended or embarrassed her hosts. “It’s just that…God is so big and He knows us all in our own language and land. After all, He’s the one who confused the languages in the first place.”
Rosemary’s face burned as the children stared at her with wide-eyed amazement, but when she met Agnes’s gaze, the woman’s wide, leathery face had softened to beautiful. “Heinrich, German, please. Our guest made the asking.”
Her husband muttered something in German, and Rosemary was almost positive it had nothing to do with the Twenty-third Psalm. But as he lifted the Bible and began to read again, she closed her eyes, drinking in the cadence, the beauty of those familiar words spoken in another language, and peace flowed over her. When he closed the Bible, she smiled. “Thank you, Herr Fischer,” she said. “That was lovely.”
He studied her for a second before he nodded and lifted his coffee cup to his lips.
Agnes clapped her hands together. “Breakfast is finished,” she told her children. “Boys—upstairs and do lessons.”
“Yes, Ma,” the two muttered.
Agnes turned to Marta. “You and Elsa vill please clean up the dishes now, and then you may do lessons also.”
“Of course, Mama.”
Rosemary stood and reached for her plate. “May I help?”
Agnes shook her head and waved her back to her seat. “The time after breakfast I haf my tea and the girls clean the dishes. It is our…” She frowned as though searching for the word.
“Routine?”
“Yes! That is it. It is our routine. And you vill haf tea with me vhile Heinrich and Herr Bakker tend to the vood.” She turned to her husband. “Ja?”
He stood and kissed her on the forehead. “Ja, Agnes.”
Mr. Bakker stood. “Thank you for the breakfast, ma’am,” he said to Agnes. “I appreciate the hospitality.”
“It is our pleasure.”
The two men left, and Agnes handed the baby to Rosemary so she could prepare the tea. The girls cleared the table and began the process of washing up the dishes in the basin on the counter by the stove. The method by which the girls washed the dishes fascinated Rosemary. She had been using a pump and sink for several years, but this kitchen made her feel as though she’d stepped back in time twenty-five years. It looked almost primitive. She could only assume that someone had drawn water from a well outside.
Agnes set two cups on the table along with
a bowl of sugar cubes and then dropped into her chair with a grunt. “Now ve haf our tea and ve get to know one another.”
Before Agnes could stir sugar into her tea, the baby began to fuss.
Rosemary bounced her, feeling completely inept. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I know so little about children.”
“Do not be sorry, Rosemary,” Agnes said gently. “Some things about babies a woman must learn. Besides, only I can quiet her when she is hungry.”
Agnes took the baby, unbuttoned her blouse, and discreetly covered herself with the shawl she had about her shoulders.
“How old is Gerta?” Rosemary asked, trying not to show her discomfort at sitting there while Agnes nursed the child.
“My Gerta.” She gave a soft sigh. “She is almost one year. Soon to be veaned. But not quite yet.”
“She’s a beauty.”
Agnes beamed under the praise. “The Lord haf been goot to Heinrich and me. Strong, healthy children and goot-looking too.”
Rosemary smiled and lifted her cup to her lips.
“Ah, Rachel vill be pleased for you to help her vith her new little one.”
Setting the cup back on the table, Rosemary met her gaze. “What do you mean? Is Rachel…?”
“I am afraid I haf given avay secret.” Agnes’s eyes lit with merriment. “She carried her baby through the summer and fall. She must haf given birth in the vinter sometime. We haf not seen nor heard from any of our neighbors in a vhile. But I believe you vill be greeted by a sister and her child.”
Tears came to Rosemary’s eyes. Rachel’s last two letters had arrived in the fall and winter. She must have known she was going to have a baby, but she hadn’t said a word. Was that the main reason she hadn’t come home to see Pa?
Clearly, her sister hadn’t wanted to worry them, with Pa so sick. That was just like Rachel, thinking of others before herself. But Rosemary couldn’t help but believe that Pa might have been happy to hear the news that he was going to be a grandfather.
“A baby for Rachel. I can hardly believe it.” Rosemary’s arms ached to hold her niece or nephew. The news of the baby would make waiting the rest of the week for the snow to clear that much more difficult to bear.
Chapter Two
.........................
Finn held his bundle close, feeling the baby’s sweet breath on his throat as he wandered up to the counter at Morehouse’s General Store.
“That last storm nearly did us in,” the proprietor said to the fellow standing in front of him. “Glad you could make it when you did.”
“I’m glad myself,” the man said. “Got caught over by those Germans a few miles thataway. Spent almost a week listening to that foreign talk. I was never so glad to put a place behind me. Ja this and ja that. People ought to learn English if they want to come to this country.”
Finn’s back went up at the slur against his friends. “You mean the Fischers?”
The man turned and gave him a once-over. “That’s right.”
“What were you doing over that way if you’re bringing goods from Williston?” Finn kept his gaze level, mindful of the baby in his arms, and tried not to look as irritated as he felt at the implied criticism of his friends. No use in starting something he couldn’t finish.
Though the distance from his homestead to the town of Paddington and to the Fischers’ homestead was the same, they were in two different directions, so he knew the fellow had driven miles out of his way.
“What’s it to you?” the freighter asked.
Finn shrugged. “Nothing. Just wondering why a man would go out of his way, that’s all. Besides, I happen to know the Fischers and think a lot of them—even if they are Germans. Seems to me when a man spends a week taking advantage of another man’s hospitality, he oughtn’t speak ill of him or his family.”
“Finn’s right. No need to be so all-fired unfriendly, Bakker,” Mr. Morehouse admonished, shoving a book toward the freighter. “Make your mark.”
“Just don’t like folk in my business, that’s all.”
“Well, it so happens that it is Finn’s business what you were doin’ at the Fischers’ homestead.”
“How so?” Bakker asked. And Finn had to admit, he was curious about Mr. Morehouse’s comment as well. Bakker made his mark and shoved the ledger back across the counter. The storekeeper opened his register, pulled out some bills, and handed them over.
“The woman who hired you to drive her is this man’s kin. Or his wife’s, anyway. It’s his homestead where she’s heading.”
The storekeeper’s words hit Finn hard in the gut, as he realized they could only mean that Rosemary had arrived. So much had happened, he’d forgotten all about her until this second.
He looked at the freighter. “Was the woman’s name Rosemary Jackson?”
“That sounds about right. Small of stature but pretty as a picture. If I didn’t have a wife at home already…”
Finn’s ire rose. “Watch it.” He forced himself to relax and speak amicably. “The woman. Did you take her to my homestead?”
The man shook his head. “Ground was still a mite soft, so I came on this way. Your German friend is taking her to your place tomorrow.”
Panic shot through Finn, and then shame.
He had no time to dwell on it, as Mrs. Morehouse was stepping into the store from a back room. She spied the baby and reached out. “Let me have that baby. Where is your pretty little wife?”
“I—um—left her at home.” The truth was more than he could bear to share.
Mrs. Morehouse’s eyes widened and she chuckled. “She must be a brave woman to allow a man to bring her baby into town without her.”
Finn searched for a lie. “It’s washing day. The baby needed linens.”
“I guess so. She needs a change right now, Mr. Tate.” The woman held on to her good humor. “Gracious, she’s also spit up. I hope you’ve brought a fresh gown.”
“She does that quite a bit.” Finn felt his embarrassment warm his ears. “I—must have left them in the…”
She waved him away and laughed. “Don’t you worry. Your wife should have known better than to let you bring her in the first place. I have some fresh gowns and linens in the back.” She glanced down at the baby. “Gracious, what was your ma thinking, to leave you with a man?”
Finn choked down a groan. He closed the distance between himself and the woman holding his child. “Give her to me.”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Morehouse frowned. “I meant no offense. My comments were meant in jest alone, I assure you.”
“Give her to me.” Finn knew he was behaving abominably, but he couldn’t offer the explanation the woman deserved. He took his child, left his items on the counter, and walked out of the store with his wailing baby in hand.
He knew she’d spit up again. He knew she was too thin and the milk she got seemed to make her sick, but what could he do? Finn set her in the basket on the wagon seat. Climbing up beside her, he released the brake and turned the wagon toward the doctor’s clinic.
Frustration filled him when he reached the office only to find a note on the door. HAD TO GO TO WILLISTON FOR SOME SUPPLIES. IF DELIVERING BABY—GO SEE MRS. JAMES. OTHERWISE, I HOPE YOU CAN WAIT. BACK IN THREE DAYS, WEATHER PERMITTING.
Finn heaved a breath and shook his head. His mind went to Rosemary. If the freighter knew what he was talking about, Rosemary would be arriving at Finn’s homestead tomorrow. Well, he didn’t really have a choice. The baby had to see the doc even if that meant Rosemary had to go straight back to the Fischers’. And he hoped she would.
The baby’s wails had reached a fever pitch. Finn pulled out the jar of still-cool milk. He opened the top, sniffed to make sure it hadn’t turned, and pulled out the feeder. He lifted her from the basket, snuggled her close, and slipped the nipple into his daughter’s mouth. Her crying stopped as her stomach filled, but he knew that, within minutes, half of it would come back up. Finn sat in the wagon as the townsfolk—most of whom he’d never
seen before—walked past, staring at him, curiosity in their eyes. Finn supposed he was something of a spectacle. Mrs. Morehouse hadn’t mentioned his own unkempt appearance: his uncut hair, unshaven face, clothes that hadn’t been washed in months. Only the need for supplies had brought him out. That and knowing his baby girl—Rachel’s baby—was much too thin for three months old. Much too small. And they wouldn’t be able to see the doctor for days.
Exhaustion had weakened every muscle and dulled his senses. He had lost all ability or desire to do anything but take care of the baby, and his home reflected that. Only he hadn’t cared until now.
What would Rachel’s sister think of him? Everything was gone because of him, and all he had left was a sick child, a filthy home, and a wife he hadn’t been able to save.
* * * * *
By the second morning after Rosemary arrived at the Fischers’, the snow had completely stopped, and the temperature rose enough to start melting the blizzard’s foot of snow. It was as though winter had tightened its grip for one last stand before spring won the tug-of-war and winter moved on. For the rest of the week, each day brought more melting, and by the time Rosemary had stayed a full seven days, the ground was almost ready to support a wagon without bogging down in thick mud.
Agnes had volunteered Heinrich to drive Rosemary the rest of the way to Finn and Rachel’s homestead. Itching to move on, Mr. Bakker had readily accepted the offer. He was already late in making his deliveries to the general store, which was a different direction from the homestead and five miles farther. His grumbling had nearly driven them to distraction over the past week. Rosemary stayed a day longer to give the ground a chance to dry a little more before Heinrich drove her the last ten miles.
Love Finds You in Wildrose, North Dakota Page 2