Chapter Eleven
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By the time she had conducted her business with the banker the following morning and returned to the homestead, the sun had risen high in the sky. With Sarah’s inheritance safely tucked away in the bank, Rosemary felt confident in her decision to homestead her own land and raise a herd of sheep. Still, the thought of being alone filled her with uncertainty.
Silas had finished packing up the wagon the night before, and they were all set to leave. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until morning and get a fresh start?”
Silas and Annie shook their heads simultaneously. Annie gathered her for a quick hug and released her. “If we leave now, we can still get in several hours of travel before dark.”
Silas shook her hand. “Thank you for everything.”
“I only wish you’d let me pay more for the animals. I would have had to purchase them anyway.” For some reason, Silas had dropped the price they had agreed upon to half and wouldn’t explain why. Rosemary hated to be suspicious of a new friend, but she wondered if perhaps his sudden burst of generosity had to do with the confrontation with Mr. Clayton. There was definitely a situation between the men, a situation Silas had chosen not to share, but Rosemary had a feeling she might have to end whatever problem had started between the two. But that didn’t mean she wanted to cheat Silas just because he was most likely feeling guilty. “I would be more than happy to pay the original price.”
“With the price you’ve paid, I will have plenty to buy seeds and a new plow. That’s all I need.”
But she couldn’t feel good about it. “But I feel as though I’m taking advantage of a friend.”
He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Don’t feel that way. We are grateful that you came along as it was, or we’d have given away everything we didn’t want to take.”
They had kept one cow, two hens and a rooster, and some of their possessions from inside the house, but otherwise, Silas and Annie truly were starting over in Missouri.
As she watched them amble down the road, she realized with a start that the homestead belonged to her. Or it would in five years after she proved up. And she would definitely finish her time on the land. Slowly she turned and looked at her home. The wood house—made of lumber, not logs—was one of the finest she’d seen in these parts, even though it was small.
She walked slowly to the porch, savoring each step. This was all she’d ever wanted, to live in her own home and run a ranch. She’d always envisioned that to be the ranch where she’d grown up in Kansas, but maybe this was better…putting her fingerprints on her own place. She could never farm on her own—she’d never learned how—and ranching cattle on only 160 acres wouldn’t be profitable, but raising sheep made sense. They took up much, much less grazing land than cattle, and their wool would bring a price every year. In no time the sheep would pay for themselves.
She took the steps to her home one at a time, taking in the smell of wood smoke from that morning’s fire. The aroma of fried bacon from lunch still clung to the air. Together they called out to her, “This is home.”
She pushed open the door and stood on the threshold. Waiting, she supposed, for an invitation, but mostly she wanted to gather in the sight of her house. Silas and Annie had taken the settee but left the two wooden rocking chairs and a red wing chair. A heavy wooden trunk sat in the corner, filled, she knew, with two quilts and other linens. Annie had waved aside her concern at not taking them along. “My brother makes those trunks. He’ll fashion us another, and truly, we have no room in the wagon. My Silas is insisting we travel light to spare the horses.”
And the quilts? They looked special. “I have packed the quilt my grandmother made for our wedding and two others. The women in my family have quilting bees all the time.” She had laughed then. “Stop worrying so, my new good friend Rosemary Jackson. I left a surprise for you inside the trunk. So after we’re gone and you have time, open it up.”
Rosemary walked across the wooden floor and dropped to her knees beside the trunk. She lifted the lid and found a note on top.
Dear Rosemary,
Rachel started this quilt as a gift for you. That’s why she rode over here so often. I was teaching her when she discovered her pregnancy. When she died, I finished it for her. Most of the work was done by her own hand.
With love,
Annie
A tender love for her sister washed over Rosemary as she gently lifted the folded quilt from the trunk. She had never understood the differences in quilt patterns when the ladies spoke of them during bazaars and Sunday afternoon dinners at church, but as she spread this one out over the bed in her room off the kitchen, she recognized the silk from their mother’s wedding gown. Though Rosemary’s heart swelled with love for Rachel and though she appreciated her desire to give her something of their mother that she could keep forever, she couldn’t help but wish that Rachel hadn’t cut up the gown. Rachel had been able to wear it during her own wedding to Finn. Rosemary had always seen herself wearing Mama’s gown too. Now that could never happen.
Had Rachel somehow known she would never marry?
A tear formed in Rosemary’s eye and she lay across the quilt, keenly aware that she was alone in her beautiful house. Her joy over finally having her own home somehow seemed a little emptier now. What good was a beautiful house and acres of land if there was no one with whom to share them?
Somehow she drifted off to sleep, for she awoke with a start to find the room growing dim. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept during the day. Embarrassed, she rose from her bed and walked into the kitchen. The sound of her shoes on the wood floor resounded through the house. With a sigh, she lit the oil lamp and then the stove for coffee.
She took her Bible from the mantel and sat in the rocking chair to read, keenly aware of every sound inside and outside the house. The crickets were beginning to chirp. The cow lowed in the pen, and she knew she’d have to milk her soon.
The boards groaned from time to time, making her stomach turn. She wished it hadn’t been so clear that she’d be staying all alone on the homestead. All the men in the land office knew. She wished now that she had asked her new helper, Rolf, to bring the sheep and start tonight, but they had agreed that tomorrow would be better. After tonight, at least she would have one hand in the bunkhouse. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine why Silas had even built a bunkhouse when he’d intended to farm the land, but she couldn’t help but be glad he’d done so.
She was just about to go into the kitchen for her coffee and to find something to eat when she heard a noise on the porch. Sucking in a breath, she reached for the Winchester over the fireplace. The noise grew louder, scratching, and…whining?
What on earth?
Walking to the door with the gun in her hand, she grabbed the latch and yanked, hoping for the element of surprise should there be a threat on the other side of the door.
Instead a happy bark greeted her, and in an instant a pair of paws rested on her shoulders, forcing her to take two steps backward to keep her balance.
“Cooper!” she hollered. “Get down.”
Her heartbeat picked up. She stepped onto the porch, looking for Finn. But there was no one but the big, floppy dog, nudging her thigh until he nearly knocked her over. “Are you here alone, fella?” she asked, scratching his head. Truth be told, she was thrilled to see him. But she hated the idea that Finn might worry about the dog.
She gave a shrug. “Oh well,” she said, walking back inside. “If Finn worries about you, he’ll come looking, won’t he? In the meantime, you should get to choose where you live. Just like I do.” She giggled.
Cooper wagged his tail and licked her hand. “Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s get something to eat.”
Chapter Twelve
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Plowing the fields gave Finn plenty of time to think, and as much as he hated the thought, he had to admit that Rosemary’s absence
from the house this past week made it seem emptier and less like a home somehow. Even though he had only shared the home with her for a day, she had forced him back to life and he couldn’t get her out of his head. She was a handful, to be sure.
Where Rachel had been compliant and easy to persuade, Rosemary seemed as though she were crafted by God with the sole purpose of getting her back up against sensible solutions. Moving into a boardinghouse, for instance, instead of trying to be a dad-blamed rancher on her own. The boardinghouse would have been sensible, but had she thanked him for going to the trouble of finding her a decent home—the best room in town, as a matter of fact? No, she’d pitched a fit and taken matters into her own hands.
Not to mention the fact that Cooper had also run off last week. Between Rosemary and the dog, Finn’s life felt lonelier than he could have imagined. And except for his baby girl, everything seemed to be going wrong.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he stopped the horse and slipped off the straps of the plow. He hated the idea of Rosemary homesteading. He wasn’t sure why. After all, what did it really matter, as long as she had somewhere to go? Still, the thought that he had made a mistake when he balked against a marriage between them wouldn’t stop taunting him.
One thing was certain: the baby was beginning to do a little better with the diluted milk. She still had trouble holding it all down and she seemed small and pale, but she was growing some and didn’t seem quite so listless—and she was sleeping better at night, which meant he was sleeping better, as well.
He had set her in her basket and plowed a few feet, gone back to get her, then plowed some more, but he had to admit, the going was slow—too slow—and he was getting further and further behind as the days went by. Rosemary’s presence would have helped during plowing.
He lifted the basket and walked several feet beyond the plow then set the sleeping baby down once more. Sarah would be waking soon for food. Since there had been no way to keep the milk from going bad out here in the sun, he would have to take her back to the house and get the cool jar from the cellar. He knew that plowing all the fields this way was almost impossible. He’d prayed for guidance, but the only answer that came back to him was one he already knew he didn’t want to pursue. But how on earth would he get the plowing done in time to plant and harvest at the right time?
After two more days of wrestling with the problem, he knew he had no choice but to go to Rosemary, hat in hand, and ask her to keep Sarah each day, sunup to sundown, while he worked in his fields. At the end of the day, he bundled Sarah, hitched the wagon, and made his way the couple of miles down the road.
Cooper’s bark greeted him when he arrived, and irritation shot through him. “You dumb dog,” he called. “I should have known you’d wind up over here, you traitor.”
When he stopped the wagon in front of the house, he smelled freshly baked bread. His mouth began to water, and for the time being he forgot about Cooper. He could kick himself for coming at suppertime, but he had to admit he’d done it at least partly on purpose. What’s more, she’d know he’d done it on purpose too.
As he set the brake and wrapped the reins around the lever, his ears picked up strange noises that took him a minute to place. His jaw dropped. Surely that woman hadn’t done what he thought she’d done.
Silas had discussed the possibility of joining forces and raising sheep, but Finn had dismissed the idea without giving it any real thought. Apparently Rosemary had a different opinion. Her pa would have taken a switch to her just for entertaining the thought of raising sheep. Still, he couldn’t help but shake his head and find humor in the situation. That Rosemary did exactly what she wanted to do.
He jumped from the wagon and grabbed the baby basket from the seat. “Rosemary!” he called. “Rosemary!”
A young man came from the barnyard. “Can I help you?” he asked in a German accent.
“Who are you?” Had Rosemary gone away after all? Finn’s stomach tightened. Surely she wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. His stomach sank. After the way he’d treated her, how could he blame her for wanting nothing more to do with him?
“Finn!” The sound of Rosemary’s voice weakened his knees as relief filled him. She came from the barn cradling a lamb in her arms. “Isn’t he precious? His poor mama didn’t make it, so we’re trying to get one of the other mamas to adopt him. So far, no one has. I believe we’ll have to feed him the same way we’ve been feeding Sarah.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Oh, Finn. When Sarah gets a little older, she is going to love the baby sheep. What if we let her raise one of her own?”
“Rosemary, what are you talking about?”
“Sarah.” She handed the lamb to the other man.
“Wait. First things first.” Finn walked toward her as she brushed the palms of her hands against her apron. “Who is this man?”
“He’s my hired helper, Rolf Georner.” She smiled. “He would shake your hand, but as you can see, I just gave him the lamb. Rolf, this is my late sister’s husband, Finn. The one I told you about.”
Finn bristled at the last comment. She had no business telling other fellas about him.
Rosemary went on. “I imagine you’ll be seeing a lot of him from now on, so try not to worry too much about his mean tongue. He’s family, after all.”
“Ja, Miss Jackson. I vill not vorry about it too much.” Rolf grinned at Rosemary then settled a firm gaze on Finn.
A delighted laugh, loud and unrestrained, burst from Rosemary. She patted Rolf’s shoulder. “Good! Will you please go back to the mother sheep and try to get one to adopt the poor baby?” She rubbed the lamb’s head and nodded to Rolf. The man stood a good three inches taller than Finn. Next to Rolf, Rosemary looked like a child.
Finn stared at her, at a loss for words. She was behaving like a different person. It had only been a few days since she’d moved into the homestead, and she was laughing and cuddling baby lambs and hiring help? For only an instant, he tried to imagine Rachel in the same situation. The comparison wasn’t fair. Rachel hadn’t spent her days with her pa riding the range, bossing the men, roping calves, and breaking horses. His memory flashed back to the early days of his acquaintance with Rosemary. He’d forgotten she could do all those things.
Sarah began to fuss and squirm. Rosemary’s expression softened. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Cooper nudged Rosemary’s leg, and she laughed and scratched his head. “Jealous of the baby?”
“I’ve been wondering where that dog went. Did you steal him?”
She looked at him askance. “Don’t be ridiculous. He showed up on my porch and acted like he wanted to stay.” She tossed him a challenging grin. “You can have him back if you can get him to stay—without tying him or penning him up.”
Finn shook his head. “Keep him. He was never really mine anyway, and Rachel was scared of him. I think he knows he belongs to you.”
He held the basket tight as she reached inside and lifted the baby out. “Oh my. You have grown!” She pulled Sarah against her and closed her eyes. The gesture went straight to Finn’s chest, and his heartbeat sped up at how much she loved his daughter. Her sister’s daughter.
“Supper is almost ready,” she said over the baby’s head. “Would you like to stay?”
“I’d love to, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be putting you out.” Why was he suddenly nervous around Rosemary, of all people?
He cleared his throat and remembered the latest news from town. “Did you hear about Heinrich Fischer?”
She turned, her brow creased. “No. What?”
Finn followed her inside. “He was trying to unharness the mules from his team last week and got gut-kicked.”
“Oh no! That’s terrible. I was planning to make a trip to see Agnes next week so I could tell her about the homestead and invite them for Sunday dinner.” She held Sarah close and went to the stove to stir a pot. “I hope this is edible. It’s venison stew. Silas has a smokehouse full of mea
t, but I couldn’t find onions.” She set the spoon back on a small plate next to the stove and readjusted Sarah. Then she looked up at Finn. “How is Heinrich doing?”
Finn hesitated. Clearly she didn’t understand what he had been trying to tell her. “He didn’t make it, Rose.”
A soft gasp left her throat as she lifted the baby’s feeder from the basket. “You mean the kick killed him?”
Finn nodded, surprised at how much Fischer’s death was affecting her. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Do you want me to take the baby?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Will you go to the root cellar and bring up the milk? She’s getting fussy. I think she’s hungry.”
“Of course. I’ll be back.” He took a couple of steps toward the front door, but Rosemary called him back.
“Silas built the root cellar directly under the kitchen so Annie wouldn’t have to go outside to bring in vegetables and the like.” She sniffled, and Finn saw that she still had tears trailing down her cheeks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Luckily it was fresh.
“Thank you, Finn,” she said around a gulp. “How are Agnes and the children holding up?”
He was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t been to see them. He hadn’t known about it in time to attend the funeral, and he had been too busy trying to plow a few crooked feet a day to even think about the widow and her children. “I’m sorry, Rosemary. I don’t know how she’s doing.”
“I’ll have to ride over there tomorrow. I haven’t seen them since Heinrich brought me to your homestead. H–he was with me when I f–found…”
Rachel’s grave. Finn drew a halting breath. “It’s okay. I understand.”
She wiped at her face clumsily, while trying to hold Sarah with one hand.
“Here, give her to me while you compose yourself. I can feed her.”
Rosemary nodded and left through the door off the kitchen. Apparently she’d taken the room that Silas and Annie had shared, which made sense. The only other place was the loft over the living room. All in all, Silas had built a nice home that would have been comfortable for a family.
Love Finds You in Wildrose, North Dakota Page 12