Love Finds You in Wildrose, North Dakota

by Tracey Bateman

  The morning dawned bright and the sun rose with blinding beauty, promising to spread its warmth as the day progressed. Eight days had now passed since that first night she’d straggled into the warm log cabin, half-frozen and wearier than she’d ever been. She had grown to love this raucous, lively family of Russian Germans more than she would have thought possible—and despite the fact that she was desperate to get to Rachel, her heart tightened at the thought of leaving Agnes, Heinrich, and the children.

  To pass the time, Rosemary had helped with the children’s lessons and read to them from the Bible, and at midweek, Agnes had taught Rosemary how to make apple strudel. Her first couple of attempts had been utter disappointments. But, determined, Rosemary had refused to stop until late one night, after supper was all cleaned up and the children were sound asleep. While Heinrich slept behind the curtain and Gerta slept next to him in the cradle and Mr. Bakker’s snores shook the house almost as violently as the blizzard, she and Agnes sat at the table savoring warm apple strudel that she, Rosemary Jackson, had cooked from start to finish, all alone. She would never forget that special time.

  But now, as much as she hated to leave her new friend, she was anxious to lay eyes on her sister again.

  A weepy Agnes grabbed her and hugged her hard.

  “You come back and I vill teach you to make sauerkraut and sausage.”

  “I promise I will. Thank you for everything,” she said. “I hope to see you again very soon.”

  Agnes’s eyes were red from tears, and she swallowed hard. “Ve will haf service ven the preacher comes, and Herr Tate vill bring you and Rachel and the new little one.” She pulled away and composed herself. “Come, children, and say goot-bye to our new friend, Fräulein Jackson.”

  Heinrich helped her into the wagon after all the good-byes were said. Agnes set a basket in her lap. “For lunch today. Sausage and rolls. From last night’s supper.” She indicated a crate in the back of the wagon. “I haf wrapped up bread, and there are two jars of jam. And strudel. Also, the gowns my Gerta is too big to wear, I send to Rachel for her new babe.”

  “Thank you, Agnes,” she said, taking the lunch basket. “Thank you for everything.”

  Marta approached and held up a folded linen with beautiful embroidery. “This is for you.”

  Setting the basket on the seat beside her, Rosemary took the cloth, curious. Then she couldn’t resist unfolding it to reveal a lovely full apron. Little flowers were stitched with delicate detail along the pocket.

  “Why, Marta, your work is exceptional. What are these flowers?”

  Marta’s eyes lit with pleasure at the praise. “Wild roses. You will soon find them growing everywhere, and maybe you will not be so impressed.”

  “My Marta does beautiful vork.” Agnes was so emotional already that her pride in her daughter brought on another rush of tears.

  “Ah, Mama,” Marta said, placing her arm about her mother’s shoulders. “We will see our Rosemary again soon. Ten miles is not so far. Is it, Papa?”

  “Not so far, ja. Still, we should get going; the ground is still muddy. It vill be slow.” His gaze rested with affection on his wife, and then he nodded to Marta. “Take your mama into the house and make her a nice cup of tea.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Marta lifted a hand of farewell then turned and did as her pa had instructed. Rosemary clutched the apron to her chest. Her eyes filled, and she looked quickly away. After all, what did she have to be sad about? She would see Agnes and Marta and the other children again soon. She sniffed as her nose began to burn with the effort of staving off the tears.

  Without a word, Heinrich handed her a handkerchief.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and dabbed at her eyes and nose.

  The air still held the kind of chill that Rosemary would have considered a winter day back home, but Agnes had assured her that this was indeed spring come to the plains and she should enjoy the sun on her face even if the chill necessitated a heavy shawl. She shivered and wrapped her red shawl more firmly around her as Heinrich slapped the reins and spoke to the horses.

  Heinrich wasn’t much of a talker. That, combined with his need to hang on to the team as it struggled against the mud that sucked at the wheels for the first two hours, made for a silent, slow, and somewhat tense trip. The ten miles, which normally would have taken only two or three hours, dragged on until four hours had passed since they left the Fischers’ home, and still they hadn’t arrived at the homestead. At noon, Heinrich commanded the mules to stop near a grove of trees next to a still creek. Here, it seemed, the snow had not been as brutal. “Ve vill haf lunch now,” he announced.

  Glad for the opportunity to stretch her legs, Rosemary didn’t wait for Heinrich to help her down from the wagon. He carried a blanket and spread it out next to the creek. He took his food and said a quick prayer. After a few bites, Rosemary drummed up the courage to ask, “How much farther until we reach Finn and Rachel’s homestead?”

  He swallowed and pointed. “Very soon. Maybe thirty minutes, if the road stays not so vet.”

  Only a few minutes left to go and they had stopped for lunch? If Heinrich had asked her opinion before he’d stopped, Rosemary would have opted to keep going. But she wouldn’t complain. She was too grateful to do anything but smile. In merely one hour she would see Rachel again. The other half of herself. She would hold her sister’s child. The excitement twisting her stomach stole her appetite.

  Heinrich glanced at her mostly untouched plate. “You do not like the sausages, Fräulein?” As many times as Rosemary had given him permission to use her given name, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do so. “I vill not tell Agnes.” He chuckled.

  “They were wonderful last night at supper, Heinrich. But I am so nervous and anxious to see Rachel, my stomach isn’t feeling so well.”

  He nodded, cramming his last three bites into his mouth at once. “Ve go,” he said around the food.

  “Oh, no. Please don’t hurry your lunch. I’ve waited this long. It’s not much longer.” But he had already gotten to his feet and reached down to help her up. Rosemary was so touched by his kindness, it was all she could do not to embrace him. But she knew he’d be mortified by anything more than a thank-you, so she forced herself to keep her gratitude simple.

  Within minutes they were back in the wagon and moving once more. Rosemary barely noticed the chill in the air now, or the slushy mud that sucked at the wheels and jerked the wagon as the mules strained to keep them moving forward. Rosemary forced herself to keep from jumping down and running ahead.

  “Soon,” she said silently, fighting back tears of joy. She would be reunited with Rachel and her family. For the first time in months, she felt as though she were truly not alone.

  Chapter Three

  .........................

  Finally, after what felt like hours upon hours, Heinrich lifted his arm and pointed. “There.”

  Rosemary followed his finger with her eyes. On the horizon a tiny house stood, forlorn and gray. The sight of such a dismal dwelling made her frown. “There?”

  She kept her gaze on the horrific little soddy, already imagining the dirt floors. Why hadn’t Rachel warned her? But Rosemary knew the answer. Rachel probably felt like a queen in a palace. As long as she was by Finn’s side, she didn’t care where she lived. Anger at Finn flared inside her. He had promised Pa that Rachel would have a proper home. Feeling Heinrich’s eyes on her, she turned and met his gaze.

  “It’s not the sort of home I expected. She never told me.” She thought again of the modern house she had left in Kansas—the same one Rachel had left only three years ago.

  “A man does not feel like a man if his woman is dissatisfied with the home he is able to provide for her.”

  The simple statement cut deep. Heinrich clearly understood how she was feeling.

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t mention it?” She gave him a wry smile, knowing for certain that Rachel would never have shown Finn tha
t she wanted more than he could give her.

  His expression remained sober. “It would be kind.”

  “Don’t worry, Heinrich. I won’t hurt him.” She breathed slowly to calm her wayward emotions. “But thank you for reminding me. Pa always told me I didn’t need to share every thought or show every feeling. I guess I didn’t learn so well.”

  “You are still young. You vill learn.” He winked at her…and even though he had to have been at least a decade younger than Pa, the paternal gesture was so reminiscent of him that she had to quickly avert her gaze to hide a rush of tears.

  The image on the horizon didn’t improve as they approached. On the contrary, the sod barn and little chicken house only made things worse. There was nothing here to praise, though she’d spent the last few minutes trying desperately to formulate a positive response.

  An enormous sheepdog greeted them with a series of warning barks as Heinrich halted the mules. Rosemary wondered how on earth the strange-looking dog could see through the gray fur covering its eyes. As he looked up at her his tail started to wag, and Rosemary let out a laugh. “You’re not much of a watchdog, are you?” He gave her a little whine and practically vibrated off the ground while she climbed down from the wagon. She couldn’t resist reaching down to pet the floppy creature.

  Glancing at the house, Rosemary anticipated Rachel’s appearance in the doorway and kept her gaze fixed there. Her smile turned to disappointment when the door remained closed.

  “Do you suppose they’re gone?” she asked, turning to Heinrich.

  “It could be so. General store, maybe.” He shrugged. “I do not know.”

  “Well…” Rosemary smiled past her disappointment. “I’ll just go on in and surprise them when they get home. Do you think that would be okay?”

  “You are invited. And Rachel is your sister. You are family.” He gestured toward the house and absently rubbed his knuckles over the dog’s head. “You vill be velcome here. Do not vorry.” He jerked his head toward the back of the wagon. “You vant I should get your things?”

  “Yes, please. Maybe someone is home and just hasn’t heard us yet.” But she doubted it. The house seemed too still. Lonely, almost. Rosemary stepped forward, the dog at her hip whining and vying for her attention. When he nudged her so hard that he made her stumble, she laughed and grabbed him on both sides of his enormous head. “Goodness, boy. You’re a needy mutt.” His pink tongue slipped out, but she jumped back quickly. “None of that, mister or miss, whichever the case may be.”

  A chuckle rumbled from Heinrich’s chest as he followed her, carrying the trunk across his back. Rosemary looked at the tiny dwelling and wondered how on earth all her things would fit inside. Several more crates were being shipped and would have to be picked up in Williston once they arrived, but for now, she had only brought clothing, books, and a few items she felt might be special to Rachel. Mama’s china, for one. Rachel had always loved it. Rosemary had packed it in the trunk among her clothing and quilts to keep the pieces from breaking, but she had been determined not to leave Ma’s china to the mercy of the men loading the packing crates. It would have most certainly arrived in pieces.

  Uncertainty stopped her at the soddy door. Rather than walk into someone’s home—even her beloved sister’s—unannounced, she raised her knuckles and rapped, paused and then rapped again.

  “Fräulein…” Heinrich’s tone sounded strained under the weight of the trunk.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed, reaching for the handle. Straightening her shoulders, she slowly pushed the door open and walked inside.

  Rosemary gasped. “This is not… It can’t be Rachel’s home,” she choked out.

  Fear filled her, turning every muscle hot and cold and weakening her limbs. The little sod home was untidy at best. The bed was not made, dishes were piled up and filthy, filling the room with the stench of rotting food. Dirty clothing was strewn about. A cradle in the corner made her groan. What had happened here? Where were Rachel and Finn and their child? The images running through her mind brought terror to her heart.

  Heinrich cleared his throat. “I should take the trunk back to the wagon, Fräulein?” he asked gently.

  Rosemary shook her head. “I can’t imagine what is happening here, but the animals are being cared for. Or the cow and chickens seem fine anyway.” And the dog. Although he might have been catching rabbits or prairie dogs.

  “These are Rachel’s things.” She pointed to the floor next to the bed. “She brought that rug from our house. Papa gave it to her from Mama’s parlor. She would never have left it.”

  “I vould not vish to frighten you, Fräulein, but there are bad men who vould…”

  “No!” She spun around. “Don’t say anything else, Heinrich. Just put my things next to the door. I will make this place livable, and when Rachel and Finn get home, they’ll have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why the house is in such disarray.”

  His chest heaved from the exertion of carrying her trunk, but even though he was out of breath, his tone left no doubt as to his resolve. “Fräulein, I cannot leave you here alone. It may be dangerous.”

  Rosemary had enough resolve of her own to not be intimidated by a strong man, even if she knew deep down that she should go back to Agnes and leave a note for Finn and Rachel as to her whereabouts. Finn would come for her. But as she looked around, she knew she’d never be able to bring herself to leave Rachel’s home. She could not walk away without knowing what had happened here. “I’m not going anywhere, Heinrich.” Raising her chin, she looked up and shot him a glare she hoped conveyed her determination. “If you try to take me by force, it will be kidnapping and that’s illegal.”

  He shook his head, silently condemning her decision. “I vill go to bring the rest of your things.”

  “Thank you, Heinrich.”

  She didn’t know why Rachel’s home was in such a state, but Rosemary had no intention of leaving it the way she’d found it. If, God forbid, something terrible had occurred, she would know soon enough. If the explanation were less fearsome, the little soddy still needed to be scoured.

  But where to start? She looked about, organizing her thoughts around the mess as she prayed frantically for her sister’s safety and for speedy understanding of why she had discovered the place in such disarray.

  The washtub sat on the floor, filled with dirty dishes. Always a good place to start, she decided. Rosemary emptied it and looked around. There was no kitchen pump, so there would have to be a well or at least a creek nearby. She thought of the creek where she and Heinrich had eaten lunch and hoped to goodness that it wasn’t Rachel and Finn’s water source.

  She slung her shawl about her shoulders, preparing herself for the enormous task at hand. Grabbing the washtub, she headed out the door, glad to be leaving the putrid air inside the closed-up little one-room home.

  Standing in the yard, she looked for the well, assuming Finn had even dug one. So much around here looked dismal and undone. That wasn’t like Finn. Back in Kansas, he’d been the best of all Pa’s hands. Why hadn’t he done more to make his homestead livable?

  Rosemary thought back to Rachel’s letter telling her to come when Pa passed on. Just where Rachel had expected her to sleep, Rosemary couldn’t imagine. Gracious, there was barely enough room for one person to live, let alone three adults and an infant. There was nowhere to even hang a curtain for privacy like the Fischers had in their cabin.

  Heinrich met her as he was coming back from the wagon with the two remaining bags and the basket of apple strudel. The remaining sausages he tossed to the dog.

  “Have you seen the well?”

  “It is behind the barn, Fräulein.”

  Rosemary smiled and started to walk in that direction.

  “Vait. I vill get the water for you.” He glanced at the tub and shook his head. “Ve find bucket. It vill perhaps be in the kitchen.”

  Feeling foolish, Rosemary nodded, her face warming. “We had a pump in the kitchen ba
ck home.” She shrugged. “I never had to draw my own water.”

  He patted her shoulder as he walked by. “Bring the tub back into the house and ve can fill with vater. Two, maybe three times from vell.”

  And she had thought she could run Pa’s ranch, had he left it to her? She didn’t even know how to draw water to fill a tub of dishwater.

  Heinrich carried the tub back inside. Rosemary located the bucket on the floor and picked it up, sloshing putrid water onto her skirt. She wrinkled her nose as she handed the bucket to Heinrich. “I don’t know what’s in there, but it’s pretty nasty.”

  “I vash it fine. Do not vorry.”

  She watched him go, grateful he was there to take care of the water, then unbuttoned each sleeve at the wrist and folded her sleeves up to her elbows, bracing herself for her extensive task ahead.

  The counter was so cluttered with dirty dishes that the first thing she did was stack the small wooden table with all the dishes that would fit. The pots she stacked under the table.

  “It isn’t as though the dirt floor is going to get scratched,” she muttered to herself. She found some soap shavings and, with a dirty knife, shaved them even smaller into the tub.

  Heinrich came in with the bucket and dumped fresh well water into the tub. “You will not heat the vater?”

  “I’d rather,” Rosemary admitted. “But all the pots are dirty. I’ll have to scrub at least one of them first.” She stopped for a breath and looked around. How could anyone possibly live here?

  The task ahead seemed greater than the amount of strength she possessed, but she hadn’t been taught to quit. She would work until no strength remained, rest, and then start again. Rosemary worked the soap until it dissolved, and by the time Heinrich returned with the second bucket of water, she was ready to tackle the mountain of dishes.

  She glanced at Heinrich as he dumped the bucket and noticed with a start that his face was paler than usual and his eyes were watering. “Heinrich?” Rosemary said, alarm beginning to build. “What is it?”