Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  Ward knelt beside her, pulling her hands away from her face. The abject misery in her visage reminded him of a wounded fawn he had come across this past spring.

  “There is a way,” he told her softly.

  Hope brightened her features, and she smiled at him with a smile that seemed to dispel some of the gloom from the darkened interior. “There is?”

  Her childish faith disturbed him. He swallowed twice before he could get the words out. “You could marry me.”

  Her smile disappeared and such a look of horror crossed her face that Ward was momentarily offended.

  Rose couldn’t have looked more surprised if the floor had opened up beneath her. She stared at Ward with a look that surely doubted his sanity. Neither one spoke for a long moment.

  “Just listen to me a minute,” he urged. “I’m not suggesting a regular marriage. I know you don’t love me, and I don’t … well, I don’t love you either. But we need each other.”

  If she could have gotten past him, Ward had no doubt Rose would have left him kneeling there. She really had no option but to listen to everything he had to say.

  “I can’t promise you love. All of that died in me seven years ago. But I can promise you that I will care for you. All I ask in return is someone to meet my needs. I know you’re a fine cook, and you have a knack of making even the roughest dwelling seem like home.”

  The anger seemed to drain from her face as she considered his proposal.

  “I need time to think, Ward. Time to sort things through.”

  “I can’t give you that time,” he declared roughly. “The minister only stayed for your father’s funeral and he intends to leave within the next hour. He’s going to try to reach Mitchell before the snow flies, so he would have to marry us now. I can give you five minutes to decide.”

  With that, he got up and left the room.

  Rose sat there, her mind totally blank. Five minutes to decide her future. Of all the nerve! Of course she would decline his offer. In fact she would take perverse delight in doing so. But what would she do with her future?

  Her mind wandered round and round in circles until Rose thought she would scream, but no matter which way her thoughts turned, she always came back to the same conclusion. She had nowhere to go. Marrying Ward offered her a solution, but what kind of woman would she be if she accepted such an arrangement?

  Of course, others before her had accepted such a proposal, but that certainly didn’t justify Rose’s doing the same. Still, Ward had said that he needed her. A man alone on the prairie was about as useless as a woman alone on the prairie.

  For the first time Rose considered the sacrifice Ward was willing to make for her. After several moments of such reasoning, Rose finally convinced herself that she would be doing Ward just as big a favor as he was doing her.

  Not willing to be found waiting for him, Rose got up and went in search of Ward. He was kneeling next to the fire slowly stirring the hot coals with the fire iron. His brow was furrowed in thought and from that distance he seemed quite unapproachable. Rose had to take her courage firmly in hand before she could get her feet to move.

  He glanced up as she stopped beside him. Green eyes studied her thoughtfully, their look inscrutable.

  “Why?”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “I owe you and your father a lot. It’s the least I could do.”

  Rose blew out through tightly clenched lips. “We owe you just as much, if not more.”

  He stood and crossed the room, returning the iron to its place by the fire. When he turned back to Rose his expression was carefully veiled. He took her by the shoulders, studying her face carefully. “I need a wife. You need a husband. It’s as simple as that. Don’t look for something more when there is nothing more.”

  Rose struggled with the desire to say no, but she held herself in check. She needed more time to decide what to do, but her time was rapidly running out. It was clear Ward expected an answer.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked in an unsteady voice.

  “Only what you’re willing to give.”

  “If I say yes … will you … do you want … ?” Her tongue tripped over the words.

  “I expect nothing from you except to care for my home, cook my meals, and possibly help with the land. In time … in time, maybe we could learn to care for each other. I don’t know. As I said, my heart died a long time ago. I don’t know if I have any heart left to give.”

  Rose lay a hand against his gray flannel sleeve. “You have a heart, Ward. You proved that just now.”

  She walked away from him and went to the window. Rose knew putting in glass panes was an extravagance, but Papa had wanted it so much for Rose. He had tried to make everything easier for her.

  Ward cleared his throat. “Rose, there’s something else you need to know.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for him to continue.

  “My place is nothing like this.” He motioned with his hand, indicating the shanty’s interior. “I had no need to fix my place up special since … since I had no woman to care.”

  Rose saw the brief look of grief that crossed his features. Ward had lost his wife on the trip out to the Dakota Territory, that much she knew. Something to do with fever. How he must have loved her to feel the pain of loss even after seven years.

  “Please don’t tell me you live in a soddie,” she whispered.

  Surprised, he blinked at her before breaking into a soft chuckle, his eyes suddenly alive with devilment. “Nothing like that. I just want you to know that I only have a one-room cabin with a dirt floor. If you decide to marry me, I will immediately begin to change that.”

  “Only one room?” If anything, her voice was fainter than before.

  He nodded. “After the storm passes I can begin to bring logs from the river to add on. It’ll take time, but I have nothing else pressing since winter has set in.”

  Rose turned back to study the outside and saw the first soft flakes begin to fall against the panes. Snow!

  Ward noticed too. He came to stand beside her, his attention focused outside. “You have to give me your answer now, Rose.”

  It seemed an eternity before Rose could bring herself to answer him. She sent up a quick prayer for the Almighty’s blessings on this seemingly unholy contract. She couldn’t get the words past the lump in her throat, so she settled for nodding her head.

  She felt more than saw Ward relax. “You’ll have to get your coat and come with me to the Haskins’. Pastor Hoover is waiting for us there.”

  “You were so sure I’d say yes?” she asked quietly.

  “Let’s just say I hoped the answer would be yes,” he answered just as quietly.

  Ward watched Rose cross the shanty to her room. When she disappeared from sight his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long breath. What on earth had he gotten himself into now? Of all the stupid notions, this had to top them all. When Emily had first suggested he marry Rose, he had thought it ludicrous, but after a fitful night with no sleep and images of Rose’s less than rosy future, the idea had seemed not only possible, but necessary.

  Rose returned and Ward helped her into her coat. He took the blanket she handed him and followed her outside to his waiting wagon. A fine layer of white covered the horses from head to tail.

  After tucking the blanket securely around her, Ward climbed into the wagon beside her and taking up the reins clucked to the horses. The silence hung between them, almost deafening in its completeness.

  Emily was waiting for them when they arrived. Although the trip was only two miles, snow now covered the ground to a depth of several inches. If the wind should pick up, it would become a full-out blizzard.

  Pastor Hoover hurriedly performed the service, smiling at them both when he gave his blessing. In a short time Ward and Rose found themselves on their way back to Rose’s shanty. Emily had wanted them to stay for a celebration supper, but prudence dictated otherwise. There were animals to attend to
. Besides, neither Ward nor Rose felt that there was anything much to celebrate.

  Rose climbed down from the wagon and hurried inside while Ward took the horses to the barn. Her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly undo the buttons on her coat.

  She threw the coat on the hook behind the front door and slowly made her way into the kitchen. She went to the window and looked out, not even bothering to light the lamp. Anguished blue eyes reflected back to her from the darkened panes. Oh Papa! What now? Would you have wanted this?

  There was no answer, only the keening howl of the wind as it began its trip across the prairie.

  Chapter 3

  The morning dawned bright and clear, almost as though the previous night’s storm had never been. It had left behind a reminder, however, and the flat prairie was covered in white for as far as the eye could see. For Rose, the past twenty-four hours had seemed like a surrealistic dream or, depending on one’s opinion, a nightmare. She twisted the gold band Ward had placed on her left hand only last night. Where he had obtained it she had no idea, nor was she about to ask. She had this horrible feeling that it might have belonged to his first wife, Elise, and that he had carried it around with him for the past seven years. Such morbid thoughts made her shiver with distaste.

  Now Ward was hitching his team of horses to the wagon in preparation for returning to his own cabin. She could see the frown furrowing his brow and realized that he was concerned for his livestock since he had been unable to make it back last night, the storm having effectively stranded them here. Her own milk cow and Papa’s horse were tied securely to the back of the wagon.

  She drifted to the front door, opening it and leaning against the jamb. Ward glanced up briefly but continued with what he was doing. The winter landscape shone so brightly it stung the eyes just to look at it. The wind had scattered the snow, piling it up against small obstructions until there were little hills all around.

  “I’ll be back by sundown. It would help if you had the place cleaned out and your things ready to be moved.” He retraced his steps to the other side of the team and began tightening the harness on Big Ben, Old Blue’s teammate. “You can leave the bedding since it will be too late to make it back to my … our place this evening. We’ll stay the night here again.”

  Would she ever feel comfortable around this man? She certainly didn’t feel married, though never having experienced that state before, she wasn’t quite sure what “feeling married” entailed. “I’ll … I’ll have supper ready when you get back.”

  Nodding his head, Ward climbed into the wagon. He gave Rose a long, searching look before lifting the reins and clucking to the team. As the wagon moved forward, Rose heard the cackling of the chickens that Ward had crated up to take back with him. They seemed as unhappy with the situation as she was.

  Closing the door, she began wandering from room to room, lifting a pot here, moving a blanket there. She stood in Papa’s room a long time before shaking her head, and finally pulling herself together. This was getting her nowhere. She knew what she had to do, so it was best to pull herself out of the doldrums and get the job done.

  Since she had no crates or barrels, she used her clothes and blankets to pile dishes and supplies into, leaving only those blankets and sheets necessary for their sojourn here tonight. She gathered her breakables next to her storage chest beside her bed and lifting the cover peered inside.

  Her heart seemed to lodge somewhere in her throat when she spotted the colorful quilt to one side. She had forgotten. Now, she carefully lifted it out, spreading it across her lap. Tears began to pool in her eyes as she moved her hand softly over the covering.

  This quilt had been a labor of love, worked on for months now. She had taken materials left over from worn-out clothes belonging to Papa and Mama, and even her own, and fashioned them into this beautiful spread.

  That blue piece was from a shirt she had made for Papa when she was but fifteen, shortly after Mama had died. Mama had taught her to sew, but the shirt had proven trickier than she had expected and somehow she could not get the sleeves to set right. Still, Papa had worn it proudly.

  There were pieces from the dresses her mother had made for her as a child. There was even a beautiful piece of faded white satin from Mama’s wedding gown.

  Rose had been saving these pieces for ages, and it was the one thing Papa had not left behind them when they had come west. Most people would have considered a crate of material pieces a foolish waste of space, but not Papa. He had known just how much they meant to her.

  It had only been this past summer that the thought of making a special quilt for him had occurred to her. She had created her own intricate pattern and worked long hours to complete it in time for Christmas. The tiny, even stitches spoke well of Rose’s ability with a needle and she felt a little thrill of pride in herself and her mother who had taken such pains to teach her the finer art of quilting.

  Since she had finished the quilt before Thanksgiving, she had put it away until later to give to Papa. It had been all she could do to keep it from him until Christmas. Now, it was too late. He would never see it.

  Tears crowded close in her throat and she gently lay the covering back in the chest, arranging her breakables among its soft folds. She shut the lid firmly.

  Well, the quilt was hers now. All that was left of Papa and Mama. Even the farm was no longer hers, but no one could take away her memory quilt, especially not some greedy bank. Let them have the land, the shanty, and even the livestock if they so desired, but the quilt belonged to her, and her alone.

  It didn’t take long for her to empty the shanty of their few possessions. She hadn’t realized just how much trifles added to the warmth of a home, but now, with the barrenness, the shanty seemed less friendly somehow. Again she experienced that feeling of living in a dream. She moved listlessly about, unable to set her mind to anything.

  Finally, she made her way into the kitchen and checked on the stew she had started earlier. Thanks to Emily, there was bread to go with it, but little else. Still, it would have to do.

  The day seemed to drag, and although she was unaware of it, Rose sighed with relief when she heard the returning wagon.

  Ward opened the door, stopping on the threshold to scrape off the mud and ice caked to his boots. He glanced briefly at Rose before closing the door behind him and hanging his coat on the peg behind it.

  “How were your animals?” she asked him, busying herself with setting the table so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. Every time she was in his presence, she felt such acute shyness that it was hard for her to form a coherent thought.

  “Our animals were fine,” he told her, deliberately stressing the pronoun. “Hungry, but none the worse for their unexpected fast.”

  He joined her at the table, breathing into his cupped hands to free them of their cramping cold. “Smells good,” he told her, his nose twitching appreciatively.

  Rose ladled him a bowl of stew, adding a buttered slice of bread. She kept wracking her brain trying to think of something to say. Ward seemed equally as uncomfortable.

  After fixing her own bowl, she slid into the seat across from him. Giving him a brief look she bowed her head and asked him to say grace.

  There was a long silence in the room, and just as she was about to look up to see what the problem was, she heard Ward clear his throat and hesitantly offer thanks for the food.

  Rose frowned. Hadn’t Papa told her once that Ward was a man of God? If that were so, then why such hesitation over a simple grace?

  She kept her gaze focused on her own plate and decided not to worry about it. Let the Good Lord handle Mr. Ward Taylor; she had enough troubles of her own.

  After supper, it didn’t take Rose long to wash the few dishes and pack them away in one of the crates Ward had brought back with him. She made one more check through the house to assure herself that nothing had been left behind. Ward had told her that the furniture could be stored in the barn temporarily, but otherw
ise there was no room for it right now in his—their cabin. She was beginning to really fret about this cabin that was soon to be her new home.

  When she closed her eyes that night, Rose tried hard to pray and leave things in God’s hands, but no clear thoughts would come. Her mind seemed to have gone blank. Finally, she allowed her musings to roam in a wordless appeal that she knew the Lord would be able to untangle and set right. Only He could possibly have any idea of what she was really trying to say. She only knew one thing. God had been with her all of her life, and she was sure He wouldn’t abandon her now.

  Conversation was nonexistent for the first two miles of the trek to Ward’s cabin. Both he and Rose were busy with their own thoughts, both trying to adjust themselves to their sudden change of circumstances.

  Rose wondered just how far the cabin was. She couldn’t remember ever discussing it with Papa, but it must be quite a distance since it took the better part of a day for him to reach their place. She really wanted to know, but she was too nervous to ask and draw his attention to her.

  “Our place is about ten more miles that way,” he told her, motioning to the northeast. His look swung briefly her way. “Are you sure you’re warm enough?”

  She nodded. Now was the time to strike up a conversation and relieve them both of this tense situation, but her tongue was simply too tied.

  As though he read her thoughts, Ward began a rambling monologue of the countryside around, how he thought it was going to be a long hard winter, and what to expect when they reached his place. Rose was trying to prepare herself for the worst.

  About halfway to their destination, they rounded a bend in the road which was little more than dug-in wagon tracks. Rose assumed that most of them must have come from Ward and his frequent trips to her cabin.

  There was a house nestled back from the road, if one could call it a house. In actuality, it was nothing but a small soddie. Probably the occupants were either too lazy to haul logs from the Missouri River close by, or they had been here too short a time to make other arrangements.