Love Finds You in Wildrose, North Dakota

by Tracey Bateman

  As he neared the homestead, the sun was almost completely hidden, and the dusk that had fallen a few minutes earlier had surrendered to the approaching darkness. He frowned as a plume of smoke curled from the chimney. At first his heart did a funny little leap. He pictured his beloved wife with supper on the table for him and a warm cup of coffee with sugar, just the way he liked it. But he shoved away the dream as reality presented itself. Someone had made herself at home in his house. Apparently Rosemary hadn’t hightailed it back to the Fischers’ after all.

  The smell of meat cooking and freshly baked bread tempted his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the cold beans he’d attempted to swallow down sometime around noon. The cost of renting a room above the saloon for the week, plus buying milk for Sarah from folks in town, had left very little for food.

  The door swung open, and Rosemary appeared in the doorway carrying a lantern and a pistol.

  “Is that you, Mr. Freeman?”

  “No. It’s not.” His breath caught as he recognized the soft face, the small but curvy frame, the silky dark hair that he could almost feel between his fingers even though it was upswept at present…. His mind swam a little. She looked so much like Rachel.

  “Finn? It’s you? Thank God you’ve come back. I’ve been here for almost a week, and I was beginning to despair that you’d ever return. As a matter of fact, I was planning to borrow your horse in the morning and go back to the Fischers’.”

  Carrying the basket containing his daughter, Finn walked cautiously toward the woman. Clarity was beginning to break through the confusion. “Rosemary.” He should have known she wouldn’t let a little thing like a filthy house and no owner keep her from making herself at home.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I can only imagine how you must feel seeing me like this, looking so much like…”

  No! everything inside of him screamed. Don’t say her name!

  “So,” he said, brushing past her and entering the house, “you finally arrived.” He set Sarah’s basket on the table, noting immediately that not only did the house smell of something wonderful cooking in the oven, but Rosemary had cleaned it from top to bottom. It looked like Rachel’s home once more.

  “Yes,” she said, her tone cautious. “Like I said, I arrived here a week ago. And a week before that I met the Fischers and was forced to impose upon their hospitality until the snow stopped and melted enough for Mr. Fischer to bring me here.” As she spoke, her gaze had settled on the basket, and she inched closer to the baby. “Is this…?”

  “Her name is Sarah Rose.”

  “Oh.” The sound caught in her throat. She started to reach out but pulled back, turning to him. “May I hold her?”

  As much as he wanted to rail against the unfairness of another woman holding his daughter when Rachel would never hold her again, he gave a jerky nod. “Did you milk the cow? Sarah’s going to need to eat soon. There are baby feeders….” He frowned, looking about. He had no idea where they might be now that the place was clean.

  “It’s okay, Finn,” she said, reaching inside the basket. “I cleaned them and put them away. And yes, I have a jar of milk outside staying cool.”

  “We have a cold cellar,” he said. Did she think he hadn’t done anything right by her sister?

  “Yes, I found it. That’s where I got the venison roast in the oven. From the looks of that cellar, there’s enough smoked meat to last another month. Rachel mentioned what a fine hunter you are in one of her letters.”

  Hearing praise that had come from Rachel nearly did him in. So he had hunted well? Had been able to give her a proper home? Had kept her alive? He never should have taken her from Kansas. If he’d only done as Mr. Jackson wanted him to and agreed to stay on and run the ranch—eventually owning half when he passed on. Rachel would still be alive, and he would have means to provide for his family and Rosemary.

  “She’s not very big for two months, is she?”

  “She’s three months.” Finn’s defenses rose. Was she implying that he didn’t know how to feed his daughter?

  Rosemary frowned. “That’s even smaller, then.”

  The concern in her voice matched the concern in Finn’s heart. He shoved his fingers through his unruly hair. “She can’t keep much milk down.”

  “Have you taken her to the doctor?”

  “That’s why I wasn’t here sooner. He’s been gone all week. I had to wait for him.” He read the question in her eyes as she snuggled Sarah. “I thought I was overfeeding her and that’s why she was throwing it up. I’ve never been around babies, Rosemary. I didn’t know she wasn’t eating enough.”

  Sarah nestled into Rosemary’s arms, gave a sigh, and settled back into a peaceful sleep. Visibly moved, Rosemary’s lips began to tremble. “She’s so beautiful.”

  “Looks like her ma.”

  Rosemary turned to Finn, a hint of a smile touching her lips. “She looks like her pa too.”

  He couldn’t take the sight of her anymore. Not looking like Rachel, sounding like Rachel, smiling like Rachel. “I’d best go take care of the wagon and get to the chores.”

  “The chores are done for the night.” She kept her eyes focused on the baby. “But if you want to unhitch the wagon and take care of the horses, I’ll have your supper on when you get back inside.”

  He hated the way she sounded. As if she belonged here, cooking at Rachel’s stove, holding Rachel’s baby. It wasn’t right, her taking over.

  “The baby probably needs to be changed.”

  Rosemary smiled, and when she looked at him, Finn noted how her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Yes, I’ll need a change too, I’m afraid. We’re both soaked.”

  “I’ll go and take care of the horses.”

  Outside, he gathered in a deep breath of fresh, cleansing air, trying to wrap his head around the new situation. It hadn’t occurred to him that Rosemary might stay at his homestead. Not in the condition he had left it a week ago. But now that she was here, he had no idea how they were supposed to stay together without compromising her reputation.

  He couldn’t live in the barn. And he couldn’t live in the house with her. That wasn’t proper. The only thing that made sense was for Rosemary to just leave.

  But he knew he would be in for a fight. Rosemary was stubborn. She wouldn’t want to go, even if he told her to. The fact that she’d come meant Mr. Jackson had passed away, so she had nowhere else to go. Rachel had mourned her pa for months, knowing he was ill and she couldn’t go to him. Finn knew the only consolation for his wife had been in knowing that her sister would soon join them. But what about Rosemary? Her pa and her sister were both gone. She had no other family. None but him and the baby.

  He expelled a weighted breath as he moved toward the wagon. He didn’t have to wonder what Rachel would expect of him. She would expect him to be nice to Rosemary and keep her close by—for Sarah’s sake, if for no other reason. But how on earth could he do that?

  The answer hit him. He could marry her. But the thought was ludicrously insane and immediately began a war inside him.

  No. No, he couldn’t marry her. He’d never marry again.

  But it would be the proper thing to do.

  But everything in him recoiled from the idea. Marry another woman? He shuddered at the very thought of it.

  No rang loud and strong in his head, and he knew he couldn’t do it. The pain of Rachel’s death was too raw. His heart couldn’t bear the idea of bringing another woman into Rachel’s home to care for Rachel’s child. Even if Rosemary was the one woman Rachel would have wanted for him.

  But there had to be an alternative. Some way to satisfy Rachel’s expectations. His mind traveled through the possibilities, every argument he could construct, as he unhitched the horses. He knew Rosemary needed a home. But why did he have to be the one to provide that home?

  He looked up into the starlit sky, wondering if, somewhere up there, Rachel looked down on him. She’d be sorely disappointed at the me
ss he’d made of everything in life, when she had worked so hard to make it good and proper.

  Even now, he could almost hear her soft voice speaking to him, reminding him of the night she’d begged him to find Sarah a good mama. “A little girl needs a ma, Finn,” she’d said. “Rosie and I were almost grown when our ma died, but oh, how we missed and needed her. Pa tried to fill in the pieces for us, but no man can be a mother.”

  “I can’t do it, honey,” he spoke into the vast darkness.

  She had lain on her bed, pale and so very thin and weak. “Rosemary has no one. The two of you would get on well, I think.” She had shuddered a sigh and bit her lip before going on. “Perhaps it would be an adjustment; you’re both so stubborn.”

  He’d refused to let her speak any more about it. Refused to even consider the possibility that she wouldn’t recover.

  He could almost hear her soft voice telling him to marry Rosemary.

  “Don’t be mad at me, Rachel. I promise I’ll take good care of Sarah, and I’ll do my best by your sister. But don’t ask me to marry another woman. There’ll never be anyone for me except you.”

  The sky remained silent as he brushed down the horses and spread hay in the trough. He grabbed the quilts from the wagon and headed to the barn. He knew Rosemary expected him inside for supper, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back and face her. She would undoubtedly want to discuss Rachel’s death, Sarah’s inability to keep milk down—and perhaps marriage had crossed her mind as well. He simply couldn’t face it tonight.

  He made a pallet in the farthest corner of the sod barn and stretched out, staring at the ceiling and trying to forget about his rumbling stomach. An hour passed. He was just about to shove down his pride and go to the house when the barn door opened. Rosemary entered, carrying a plate. Relief and dread washed over him.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” she said. “Sarah’s all taken care of and sound asleep in her cradle. I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping with her, but I diluted the milk with warm water and a little sugar. She took it fine and only spit up a little.”

  He nodded, letting her words bring some peace to his overwrought nerves. “Thank you for caring for her. And for thinking of me.”

  “It’s your food. All I did was cook it,” she said, handing him the plate and a cup. “And your coffee.” She smiled. “You used to drink it with sugar. I hope you still do.”

  “That’s right. It’s good of you to remember.”

  “My memory is one of my talents. Pa always said so.”

  “I take it he passed on?” He held his plate and set his cup on the ground next to him but didn’t take a bite. It seemed insensitive to fill his stomach when Rosemary’s eyes were filled with pain.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “You didn’t receive my letter?”

  “I haven’t gone to the post office since…” He shrugged. “Why didn’t you inherit the ranch? Rachel said your pa would never pass it on to you, but I thought surely he would.”

  “Rachel knew Pa well.” Her face darkened, and she shrugged too. “Pa wanted a man running it. If you’d been there, he’d have left it to you and Rachel.”

  He heard the unspoken accusation. “And Rachel wouldn’t be dead.” Would there come a day when he didn’t feel guilt over everything, past and present?

  “I’m sorry.” She gestured to his plate. “Please go ahead and eat. I know you must be famished.”

  “I am.” The venison roast was the best thing he’d had to eat in as long as he could remember, and even that thought made him feel guilty. Rachel had been a wonderful housekeeper, but her cooking skills had left something to be desired. She’d lamented the burned dinners and undercooked breakfasts, coffee that was never quite right, and bread that didn’t rise. Rachel was always looking to the horizon…dreaming.

  Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed that Rosemary had made her way back to the door until she spoke. “If you are still hungry after that, come get more. I won’t be sleeping for a while, so you won’t disturb me.”

  “I’m obliged. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” He sipped coffee to wash down a mouthful of bread.

  “Rachel would want me to look after you and Sarah. She would do the same for me if it were the other way around.”

  Without waiting for his response, she ducked out of the barn, leaving Finn to wrestle with her words.

  * * * * *

  Rosemary’s stomach quivered as she walked back into the soddy. There were so many things on her mind, so many words she wanted to say to Finn, but her brain refused to formulate even one of them.

  She closed the door behind her and, as if pulled by a rope, she was drawn to the baby’s cradle. Her heart rose to a height of love she’d never expected was possible, let alone felt. And as far as feelings went, this one had somehow evaded her for all her twenty years. To be sure, she had loved her ma and pa and Rachel, but this feeling was altogether different.

  Kneeling beside the cradle, she thumbed a trail along the silky hair at the nape of Sarah’s tiny neck. Oh, how Rachel would have loved this baby. She had always been the one to nurture kittens and calves. Any baby of any species Rachel considered hers to mother. It didn’t seem fair that she should be gone before she could experience the joy of watching this incredible little creature grow into womanhood.

  A rush of tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “How am I going to watch over her for you? We can’t share this one room, Rach.” But she knew Finn needed someone to watch over him. Someone to help put the pieces of himself back together. She hadn’t realized how much he’d loved her sister until she started the process of cleaning up the soddy. Rachel’s death might have destroyed him completely if not for baby Sarah. And now the baby was sick too.

  “Please, God,” she prayed as she looked down at her tiny niece, “show me what to do. How will I take care of Finn and watch over Sarah?”

  Her mind raced to the land Mr. Freeman was about to desert. Had the two men spoken yet? She had wanted to bring it up in the barn, but her proximity to her sister’s husband was disconcerting. She, who had never even been courted, stood a mere two feet from the man she had secretly watched for two months after he signed on to work at the ranch.

  When Rachel rushed into their bedroom with her face ablaze and eyes bright, looking more beautiful than Rosemary had ever seen her, she knew Finn’s attentions had not turned her direction but her sister’s. That instant, Rosemary had put away all romantic notions of Finn Tate.

  But the memory of her childish dreams of marriage to him filled her with shame.

  She could go back to the Fischers’ until she decided what to do. But how could she possibly watch over Sarah if she was as far away as a half-day’s ride by wagon? Besides, their cabin was full as it was. She couldn’t ask Heinrich and Agnes to make room for her.

  The door opened, and she turned to find Finn standing there and holding his plate, looking like a little boy caught with a stolen pie. “I should have knocked.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She stood, casting a last glance at the baby. “It’s your home. Besides, I needed to get busy. I could sit beside her cradle and do nothing but look at her for hours.”

  A hint of a smile touched his lips, and his expression softened. Rosemary caught her breath as his gaze trailed to his daughter. The tenderness in his eyes reflected her own heart. He turned to her as though hearing her unspoken thoughts. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

  “She’s beautiful.” Feeling exposed, she averted her gaze to the dishes he carried. “I haven’t cleared supper yet. There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry.”

  “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

  “Will you sit and eat at the table?” She took his proffered plate. “I’ll bring the coffeepot.”

  Her stomach dipped as he moved past her in the cramped space. She hadn’t seen Finn since he’d married Rachel and left immediately for Dakota Territory. Right now, he was sorely in need of a bath, a shave, and a haircut, but
somehow she had to forgive his untidy appearance. The fact that he was this distraught over Rachel’s death almost made her love him more. No, not love. It couldn’t be love.

  Shame filled her as she recognized the truth—her feelings hadn’t changed for him one bit. Shame. Shame on her. A silent prayer poured from her heart. Please don’t let Rachel know I care for her husband in this manner.

  “Have you eaten?” Finn’s voice broke through her traitorous thoughts. “I don’t see another plate out.”

  Spearing a slice of venison roast onto the plate in her hand, she shook her head. She spooned juice from the pan over the meat and lifted the plate of bread in her other hand.

  “I’ll wait for you,” he said as she set his meal in front of him.

  It would have been foolish to argue. “If you want me to.”

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “As long as we’re sharing a meal, we may as well go ahead and discuss your plans.”

  Ah, so that was it. He was being cordial in an effort to get rid of her. The thought stung and, though she hated to admit it, angered her a little, after the week she’d spent cleaning up the pigsty he’d made of her sister’s home. Now without appetite, she looked at her filled plate and knew she wouldn’t eat any of it. Grabbing the coffeepot as she turned, she went wordlessly to the table, poured coffee into his cup, then set the pot back on the stove, before taking the other chair across from him.

  She hated to admit that the last thing she felt right now was thankful, but she folded her hands without allowing her elbows to touch the table. “Would you care to say the blessing?” she asked around the anger tightening her throat.

  He hesitated, which made Rosemary wonder if he felt the same way she did. “I’d be pleased to.”

  “Lord,” he prayed, “we thank You for…” He hesitated again, long enough that Rosemary glanced up. His eyes were on her. He shook his head. “If you want to say a prayer, I’ll be reverent. But I can’t just now.”

  Rosemary nodded. She closed her eyes. “We thank You for the meal before us, God. And we give thanks for Sarah.” And because to thank Him for anything else right now seemed pretentious, she said, “Amen.”